


Eleazar

by emmbrancsxx0



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Arthur-centric, Human Experimentation, M/M, Minor Character Death, Needles/Syringe warning, POV Arthur, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 12:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 102,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3134111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmbrancsxx0/pseuds/emmbrancsxx0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year 2019, Eleazar Inc. is a pharmaceutical company on the verge of creating a serum to cure all illness, including the ultimate disease: death. Arthur has been resurrected; Merlin cannot die. Is the key to Eleazar’s success locked in their DNA?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The italicized language is, for the sake of the reader's translation purposes, Welsh. If you don't speak Welsh (I sure don't), Google Translate is recommended.

There was warmth. It wasn't coming from him; it was something intangible and invisible. He knew it was sunlight before he even opened his eyes, just as he knew it wasn't warming him at all. He felt frozen. Rather, the sun was heating up the droplets of water cascading down his bare skin and falling to the grass beneath him that  _almost_  prickled his flesh.

He could  _almost_  feel it—all of it. The touch of it was distant, like the press of a finger on a limb that had fallen asleep from a lack of blood circulation.

There was something else he knew: a sound—a word. A familiar word, called by an even more recognizable voice. His eyes fluttered open to the blinding light, but his vision soon adjusted to the figure crouching over him. It was Merlin; he knew that before he realized that word Merlin was repeating was  _his_  name.

"Ey kunt beleev't! Arthur!"

Arthur blinked rapidly, trying to make heads or tails of what Merlin was saying. It sounded like he had his mouth full, which Arthur wouldn't doubt, save for the fact that they were on the banks of a lake and he couldn't see a picnic blanket anywhere.

Hadn't Merlin been trying to get him to a lake? Arthur suddenly remembered falling to the ground in a clearing, the large tower on the lake's isle still shining in the distance. He remembered being pressed against Merlin's chest, being propped up by Merlin's knees, digging uncomfortably into his back, with Merlin's arms wrapped around him.

Merlin was calling his name then, too.

Arthur had told him  _thank you_ , the last  _thank you_ ; the  _thank you_  they both knew meant  _I love you_.

He'd said it because he thought he was a dead man, but it appeared Merlin had somehow succeeded.

He smiled, close-mouthed and sleepy, the only thing he could muster, and blinked some more in the sunrays. He still felt chilled down to his bones, but not cold. It was a numb sort of feeling.

He opened his mouth to say Merlin's name, to assure him he was all right, but nothing came out. The only thing that escaped him was air, not quite a breath. He realized at once that he wasn't breathing.

He shot up quickly, bypassing the worried expression Merlin was giving him along with more muddled speech. Arthur focused on his hands, splaying his fingers out. His skin was sheet white, lacking its usual tanned glow. Even the veins beneath his skin were pallid.

He looked down at his legs, which were similar in color to his hands on their tops, but he caught sight of the skin resting on the grass. It was bruised purple and red, a continuous contusion that discolored the entire back portion of his body. It reminded him of the cadavers at the State funerals he attended for knights and noblemen. It reminded him of the last time he saw his father's body before he was put away in the coffin.

Arthur tried not to panic. He tried to force in steadying breaths of air, but it felt like something was blocking his chest. He thought he might be sick, but he couldn't even retch.

"Whoa, whoa, Arthur," Merlin was saying, holding his hands out to catch Arthur in case he fell over. "S'alriht."

Arthur's eyes flashed to him, and something in Merlin's expression dropped but he quickly steeled himself. He was wearing the oddest clothes: blue trousers whose fabric looked rough and a thin shirt of some kind of colorful tartan pattern. Black shoes with dirty white laces and a blue star on the outer sides replaced his usual boots. He looked ridiculous. It disoriented Arthur.

Merlin turned away, reaching into a large leather messenger bag and taking out a blanket. He stood up and spread it out between his hands.

"Kun'yoo stand?"

Arthur blinked up at him, still feeling lightheaded.

Merlin dropped his shoulders in a patient sigh and leaned down again to drape the blanket over Arthur's shoulders. He then walked around Arthur and grabbed him at the arms, hoisting him up. For a second, a sorrowful, guilty look passed over Merlin's expression, but he blinked it away.

"Arthur, kummon."

Arthur tried to shout at him, to get him to speak clearly, but nothing came out. Merlin attempted to grasp him again, but Arthur slapped his hand away and instead wrapped the blanket closer around him. The numbness that overcame him wouldn't go away, which was rather alarming. Arthur didn't like any of this: not the cold, not the paleness of his skin, not Merlin's attire. None of it made any sense.

Merlin gave another patient sigh, and looked as though he was trying to remember something. Slowly, he said, "Arthur,  _gadewch i ni fynd_."

Arthur was glad that Merlin was finally speaking sense, but his words seemed sterile, like he was trying to utter the phrase perfectly. Arthur was sure his skin would be crawling if he could feel it properly.

He let Merlin take him by the shoulder this time, and he turned around in the direction of the path, which lead upwards over a hill. The greenery soon turned into something flat, black, and hard. Something navy blue and reflecting the sun like metal whooshed across the stone bridge with a roar, snaking up the black road towards a row of homes.

Arthur was lucky that Merlin was clutching his shoulder when he staggered backwards.

* * *

The house Merlin had led him into was small, consisting of only one level with a few rooms, some larger than the others, and full of objects foreign to Arthur's eyes. However, he barely had time to focus on any of it. Merlin swiftly dragged him into the smallest room in the house, made of tiles that had long since lost their luster and stained white porcelain. The cracks between the tiles near the bath, which Merlin filled with hot water before making Arthur sit in it, were discolored by something once dark but now stubbornly faded.

Merlin took bottles of colorful gels from the bath's ledge and worked them into Arthur's hair and skin. It made Arthur somewhat warmer, and he thought he could feel sensation in his toes.

Arthur looked down at Merlin's hands as they worked. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and Arthur caught sight of a marking under Merlin's right wrist. Arthur grabbed it, and the suddenness of it must have taken Merlin by surprise because he gave a sharp breath. Arthur turned over his wrist to look at the marking. It was a tattoo, the silhouette of a dragon, two inches long and wide.

It was the Pendragon crest.

For the first time, Arthur was happy he couldn't speak. He wouldn't know what to say, anyway. Merlin didn't say anything, either, and gently withdrew himself from Arthur's grasp to continue bathing him.

Soon, Merlin washed the suds off his hands and stood up, unrolled his sleeves, and wiped at the line of moisture on his shirt. He started for the door. Arthur shuffled, ready to follow him, but Merlin turned around halfway again and held out his palm.

"Stae," Merlin said simply before leaving Arthur alone. He returned less than a minute later with a stethoscope, placing it in his ears as he squatted down next to the tub again. He touched the metal part to Arthur's chest, and Arthur tried hitting it away but Merlin slapped right back.

"Arthur," he said, sounding stern, so Arthur settled and let him concentrate.

Arthur watched Merlin for a few beats, taking him in. His eyes were searching the wall and his lips were in a small "o" shape as he listened to Arthur's chest. He looked unchanged, still with his hair as dark as the night and his skin the color of starlight. But there was something strikingly different about him, too. Arthur couldn't quite place it. Perhaps it was his eyes. They looked the same: a darker, nighttime blue around the edges with lighter bursts shooting out from the pupils so the irises looked like tiny supernovas. But maybe they weren't supernovas anymore. The contrast of colors now seemed more like rims of light around black holes.

Merlin gave a breath and retracted the stethoscope. He pulled it from his ears and grasped it tightly, his knuckles going as white as Arthur around it. He looked down at the dark red rug at his feet, appearing to collect his thoughts.

The bathwater sloshed as Arthur moved closer to the edge of the tub. He wanted to say something—anything—to take that look off Merlin's face, but he couldn't. He reached out his hand instead and gave Merlin's shoulder a squeeze and a shake. Merlin looked at him with the same guilty expression as before, but he tried to push a shaking smile to his face.

"Yoo dunt haf uh crayving fur hoomen brayns, doo yoo?" Merlin asked, and Arthur clenched his teeth, trying to keep his frustration down.

Whatever Merlin had said, he didn't wait for an answer. He reached into the water and pulled the plug out of the drain. Instantly, the water began to slurp and gurgle. Arthur watched him hoist himself up to tear a towel off the railing and hold it out in offering.

"Dri urself awff," Merlin said as Arthur stood up and grabbed the towel from him. "Eyl fhind yoo clohs."

With that, he was gone again, and Arthur heard his footfalls descend down the corridor. It made Arthur look down at his own feet, where the rest of the soapy water was curling around his ankles and disappearing down the dark drain. Arthur tried not to notice that his feet were now bruised and discolored instead of the back of his legs, and he began drying off his hair.

After wrapping the towel around his waist, he stepped out of the tub and towards the sink. He stared at the basin in confusion. Remembering what Merlin had done before with the tub, Arthur wrapped his fingers around one of the knobs and twisted it, cocking a brow as water filtered out of the spout and went right down the open drain. He twisted the knob again to stop it.

Then he looked into the mirror above the sink, which was a mistake. Only then could he see how pale he really was. His cheeks were sunken around the bones, and his eyes were dark and shadowed. His lips were purple. He closed his eyes against the reflection and turned away, but the image was seared into his eyelids.

He left the bathroom behind and started down the hallway in the direction Merlin had disappeared. Arthur found him in the bedroom, standing over an open drawer of a dresser with his back to the door. His shoulders were tight and in a line, and Arthur heard shaking breaths escape him. Merlin dropped the fabric in his fist back into the drawer in favor of placing his fingers to his temples to stifle a headache.

Arthur paced closer, and Merlin must have felt his presence because he picked up the clothes again and turned around. A grin that didn't quite reach his eyes was plastered on his lips. Then he made an unsure sound and held out the clothing, stepping closer. He helped Arthur into them. They were baggy and never worn, and Arthur thought they might have been soft.

Next, Merlin sat Arthur down on the mattress and said, "sleep," in an assuring kind of tone. When Arthur didn't move, Merlin took him by the shoulders and gingerly pushed him down to the pillow and sheets.

"Sleep," he said again with wide eyes, and Arthur got the message.

Merlin turned away again to leave the room, but Arthur grabbed him by the wrist, his fingers wrapping around the tattoo, and forced him back around. His eyes weren't pleading or angry, but he was certain Merlin understood that he didn't want to be alone in this strange place with whatever was happening to him, because Merlin nodded. When Arthur let him go, Merlin crossed to the other side of the mattress and laid down close on his side, facing Arthur. The proximity was comforting, even though Arthur couldn't feel it on his skin. It tickled the peripherals of his mind, and that was enough.

"Eyl maykit riht, Arthur," Merlin whispered as Arthur closed his eyes, "Ey prommiss."

Arthur fell asleep to the sound of Merlin's breathing.

* * *

Arthur couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't twitch his fingers or curl his toes. He couldn't move.

Something like this had happened to him once when he was a child. He'd woken up from a nightmare and couldn't move his body for what felt like a lifetime. Gaius had explained it was something that sometimes happened when one awoke from sleep before they were ready. It was some medical reason that Arthur was too young to understand at the time, and Gaius had given him a sleeping draft and left it at that.

However, the paralysis wasn't passing, as it had the last time. Arthur felt trapped in the darkness. He tried to scream, to rage, but he could not break free.

He heard Merlin saying something in that foreign speech again, and the sound of his voice soothed Arthur slightly, even though Merlin's tone suggested he was trying not to panic. Next, he felt Merlin's palm on his forehead, warm and clammy.

He could  _feel_  it. The touch wasn't numb, as it had been before. And suddenly Arthur wanted to cry out for a different reason. For joy.

Another word was whispered in a language only slightly recognizable to Arthur, but he didn't have time to place it.

He fell back into a dream.

* * *

Birds were chirping when he woke up, and the sunlight was kissing his skin as it filtered through the window. The sheets around him were starchy, but the mattress was soft. He groaned awake and rolled over into the empty side of the bed and blinked against the fabric. The window was open, and the breeze carried in the sweet smell of spring. Arthur breathed it in, letting it fill his lungs.

Memories of what had happened flooded back to him so quickly they almost drowned him.

He shot up in bed, taking in a few more deep breaths in and out. He found himself grinning into them, laughing softly.

He held out his hands in front of him to find that the color had returned to his skin. He stilled himself so that he was able to feel his pulse pounding in his chest. He let out another whoop of laughter and fell backwards on the pillows again.

"Merlin!" he yelled happily, and he instantly heard someone drop something from down the hall. The clashing noise was followed by hurried footfalls, and soon Merlin slid to a stop in the doorway.

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows to better look at him. Merlin's eyes were large and round, his mouth slightly parted in that stupid look Arthur knew so well. Arthur couldn't find it in himself to roll his eyes at the expression. He couldn't stop beaming.

Merlin seemed to shake himself awake. He rushed to the room and picked up the stethoscope from the dresser, rapidly setting it in his ears. When he sat on the mattress, Arthur felt it dip under the weight, and he let Merlin place the metal over his heart without debate this time. It gave Arthur a shock of cold that rattled his spine, but he didn't mind so much.

A grin cracked Merlin's features as he listened to Arthur's steady heartbeat. He breathed out something that sounded like, "Et wherkt."

" _Beth yr ydych yn ei ddweud_?" Arthur asked into a smirk, but Merlin only answered by letting out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He slapped his palm over his mouth, hiding his smile. He kept the metal placed against Arthur's skin, closing his eyes into the sound like it was music.

Arthur wrapped his fingers around Merlin's thin wrist, almost expecting to feel the inked skin raised, but it wasn't. He watched as Merlin's long lashes fluttered to the touch. His gaze swept up to meet Arthur's, dark blue on light. Merlin's smile faded as he searched Arthur's face, a soft, contemplative sparkle lighting his eyes. Arthur had seen that look before; he'd _given_  that look before, but only when Merlin couldn't see it.

Before Arthur realized it, Merlin was on top of him, crushing their lips together hungrily. It took Arthur by surprise at first, and his eyes widened. He took in a sharp breath of shock, but all it did was fill him with Merlin's scent—green, like the earth on the breeze. Merlin had always smelled like that. And at least now he could understand Merlin clearly, no muddled words needed.

Arthur opened his mouth into Merlin's, realizing that he was hungry, too.

Starving, in fact.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thack thack thack thack_.

Arthur groaned.

 _Thack thack thack thack_.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

 _Thack thack thack thack_.

Arthur shuffled on the sheets, less starchy now and of better fabric, and rolled over to look at the clock on the dresser. Digital clocks were one of the handiest things of this new world, but right now the angry red numbers were telling him something evil.

"Merlin, it's six-thirty in the morning. What on  _earth_  are you doing?"

 _Thack thack thack thack_.

When Merlin didn't answer, Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and looked at the desk across the room. Merlin was curled up on the chair, one leg tucked beneath the other, as his skin reflected the intense pale glow of his laptop.

" _Mer_ lin, did you even get to sleep last night?"

"Yeah, in a minute," Merlin said in a distracted tone, and his answer didn't make any sense. Arthur grunted and fell back on the pillow, his blood pressure rising as Merlin continued to type.

Realizing he wasn't getting back to sleep with that racket, he sat back up and tossed the blankets off of himself. Only when he kicked his feet onto the floor did Merlin ask, "You're getting up  _now_?"

"I might as well  _now_."

"Not my fault you're such a light sleeper," Merlin muttered at the computer screen and Arthur rolled his eyes. He was never a light sleeper in Camelot.

"What are you doing on that thing, anyway?"

Arthur walked up behind the chair and leaned into it to read over Merlin's shoulder. He was on some website declaring the reality of all the Arthurian legends, run by, Arthur suspected, some crackpot who lived in his mother's basement. A crackpot who was actually correct, but a crackpot nonetheless.

From what Arthur gleaned, this one was apparently preaching about how the legends were connected to some government experiment.

"Not  _this_  again," Arthur said with another eye-roll.

"He e-mailed me. I wanted to take a look," Merlin said, sounding defensive.

Arthur quirked a brow. "And?"

"Total nutter."

"Ah," Arthur agreed, his eyes lighting up as though his point were proven.

"Arthur, ever since I posted the story of your return, I've been getting several dozens of e-mails a day! Granted, a good handful of them are religious fanatics calling me a devil-worshipper, but . . . You'd be surprised how many people believe you're  _the_  Arthur."

By this time, Arthur had moved towards the dresser to fish out his jogging clothes.

"I never said it was  _real_ , per se," Merlin continued. "No one important  _actually_  takes them seriously."

"Probably because it  _wasn't_  real," Arthur told him. "I've read some of the things you've written over the years—"

"Not all of them were  _mine_."

"Enough of them were, I'm sure," Arthur went on as he changed. He slipped his watch over his wrist, and the sensors immediately made the computerized picture of a heart flash in an out in a hot red color. It beeped annoyingly as it registered one hundred and sixty-seven beats per minute, and, as usual, Arthur quickly tapped the screen to make it stop. He continued to speak over it, "Not that I can ever tell. I'll never understand why you can't just use your own name."

"Yeah, because the same author living for thousands of years wouldn't raise any suspicions," Merlin chided. "They're pen names, Arthur, and this way, no one can know it was me."

"You and your pseudonyms," Arthur said, shaking his head before slipping his shirt over it. He liked that word— _pseudonym_. Merlin had taught it to him, as there was only so much grammar and vocabulary those ESL classes Merlin had dragged him to could teach. Still, over the past year and a half of being submerged in an English-speaking world, Arthur had picked the language up. It was sink or swim, after all, especially for Merlin's sake.

The first couple of months were hard. They could barely communicate with one another. Merlin had to rely on translation websites on the Internet, and even those only gave him modern Welsh. That would frustrate Arthur, because how could Merlin not remember that language?  _Their_  language? The language of Camelot? Over time he'd learned to accept it, but it scared him to think that, one day, maybe he'd forget it, too.

"The point is, you added things that  _never happened_ ," Arthur went on. "You've made our lives . . .  _fanciful_."

Merlin scoffed. "There's nothing wrong with holding the readers' attention. Besides, how do  _you_  know those things never happened? There's plenty I haven't told you."

"I don't doubt it," Arthur sighed, but there was no mistrust in his tone. He didn't feel any, not strictly speaking. It was more of a slight twinge of doubt in his stomach that he learned to ignore. "But, still, it's—," he gave a flutter of his hand, trying to place the right word.

"Me being a literary genius?" Merlin asked hopefully, his brows darting upwards.

"No, more like  _idiotic_ , but bigger. What's the word? Ah, yes— _Merlin_."

"I'm splitting my sides," Merlin said with a frown as he turned back towards the screen.

Dressed now, Arthur moved back towards the desk and snatched his wireless headphones, which lay beside Merlin's arm.

"I'll be back in an hour," Arthur estimated as he put them in his ears. His watch dinged as it recognized the Bluetooth connection. Arthur still didn't understand how that worked, but it had been months since it had impressed him. Perhaps he was becoming as jaded as everyone else in this century.

"Remember, we've got that party at Jaclyn's this afternoon," said Merlin, making Arthur crinkle his nose.

"Haven't you got a shift today?"

Merlin hummed in the negative. "I'm on call. Hopefully, no one will injure themselves too badly," he said, checking his mobile for good measure. He had no new notifications, so he set it down.

"Fine," Arthur conceded. "Just don't spend all morning on that computer. Have a shower, for the love of god."

A sly smirk twitched Merlin's lips. "I can wait an hour."

Arthur raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose lustfully at Merlin. He liked the sound of that. They had, after all, thousands of years to make up for.

"I'll make sure to run fast," he promised before grabbing Merlin's temple with his open palm and jerking his head closer to place a hard kiss to his hairline. He started towards the hallway.

Merlin was already typing again by the time Arthur reached the bedroom door.

* * *

Running seemed like the main thing people of this century did for exercise. Sometimes at dusk, Arthur would see one of their neighbors running down the hill, their trainers slapping against the asphalt, as that was the only time they could fit working out into their routine.

However, that morning, Arthur saw one or two others getting their exercise in before the workday, and he had to admire their dedication. Personally, he wished he were still rolling over in sleep. He passed a woman who he'd sometimes see around the neighborhood. Her flushed hot cheeks were the same color red as her jogging jacket. She gave him a breathy nod and smile as she ran by him on the road. He gave her the same greeting before turning down the main street of the neighborhood.

A few people were already littering the pavements, mostly shop owners opening up for the day and the postman collecting from the boxes. There were also people weaving in and out of the coffee shop—a mother pushing a buggy, businessmen taping their watches or scrolling through their mobiles in impatience, some teens from the local school—all desperate for their morning pick-me-up before facing the day.

In front of the pub, Arthur saw a tramp of about forty with a stack of fliers in his hands. He was eagerly trying to hand them off to anyone who walked by. As he jogged closer, Arthur heard the man shouting just above the music in his ears.

"It's time you knew the truth!" he yelled to everyone and no one. "Stop them before they stop you! You could be next! Or you! Or  _you_!" That last one had been directed at Arthur, but he paid no attention.

The people of the town called the man Bonkers Bobby. He was a general nuisance that had started up earlier in the year, and he apparently had a reputation before then, too. In the summer, he would harass tourists around the Tor, shouting at them about his crusade and shoving fliers into their arms. Arthur saw him around the town's center every now and again, outside the supermarket or around town hall. When he wasn't preaching, he could usually be found in, or being thrown out of, a pub. He never ventured this high up the hill, but Arthur didn't stop to wonder why he had done so that day.

Merlin had warned him to stay away from Bonkers Bobby, not that Arthur needed telling. In Camelot's lower town, Arthur would sometimes see dirty old men holding up bibles to the sky and crying out loud about the inevitable end of the world by god's hand. Usually, people just bowed their heads and walked on by, but the men stuck to their beliefs. Every day, they would roam the streets, hollering out.

It seemed some things never changed, and Bonkers Bobby was proof of that.

Arthur cut into a side street that led towards the woods. He refocused on his music, which played some upbeat tune that Merlin had downloaded onto the watch. Arthur could never get used to this kind of music; it was mostly just noise, but at least it kept his adrenaline up.

Swordplay, hunting, and riding were better forms of exercising in Arthur's opinion. Running was dull, which is why he always took a scenic route rather than sticking to the road, like most others did. He got to explore more of Glastonbury that way, too, and it allowed him to find nature's familiarity in all the new world infrastructure.

The lake, which should have been sparkling in the distance, wasn't there anymore, at least not for Arthur. It was replaced by green grass, which dipped and rose against the hills and gave way for small, nestled homes. Glastonbury Tor rose above everything, taller than all the hills and greener than any field. Arthur hated looking at it, but he couldn't resist. His eyes wandered to it, searching for the Lake of Avalon hidden just out of sight from the mortal world.

Merlin told Arthur that Avalon could only be seen when one is on the cusp of life and death, in between the world and the afterlife. Arthur wondered if that rule applied to one who could not die. Sometimes, he caught Merlin's eyes wandering to the Tor, too. His gaze lingered too long to be focused on nothing but grass.

Once, Arthur tried jogging up the Tor, but the shadow cast by St. Michael's Tower gave him chills. Inwardly, he referred to the Tower as his tombstone, and one should never perform the routine tasks of life around their grave.

However, other people's graves didn't bother him so much, and that day he found himself running through the unkempt pathway of the small cemetery at the edge of the neighborhood. A few golden and red leaves were already littering the lawn with the promise of autumn, and they crunched under his soles as he went along.

The tiny stone church on the other end of the sea of headstones was dilapidated and appeared even more ancient than Merlin was. It reminded Arthur of the churches in Camelot's outlying villages. Moss and ivy were growing up its corners and a stained glass window on the side had a hole through the bottom. Likewise, the tombstones were faded and weathered, without any colorful flowers at their bases, and Arthur wondered how many years it had been since anyone was buried there. Perhaps everyone under the earth had been forgotten long ago, like they'd never even existed in the first place.

Arthur knew the feeling.

There was a flash of red in his peripherals, and Arthur turned his head in the direction of the church. The woman jogger he had seen before was there, standing on the path across the way, facing him. He slowed to a stop as he noticed she was holding up her mobile and snapping a photograph of him.

"What are you doing?" he called towards her. She did not respond. Spooked, she thrust her mobile back into the clip on her side and then ran towards the exit of the cemetery.

" _Stopiwch_!"

The gate creaked as she tore it open and jogged out.

He cut through the tangles of grass and weeds, dodging headstones, to get to the gate. He came to a reluctant halt when he cleared it, looking both ways down the road but not seeing the woman anywhere.

He dropped his shoulders, not knowing what to make of the experience. It felt odd being captured on the screen of a complete stranger, but he supposed there was no harm in it. It would probably just end up on one of those exercise  _blags_ , or whatever Merlin called them, on the Internet.

* * *

Merlin was singing along to the radio again, even though he didn't know all the words of the song currently playing. He would bellow the parts he did know—tossing his head back and closing his eyes, much to Arthur's dismay because, really, Merlin was going to drive them off the road one of these days—and he quietly mumbled and fumbled upon the lyrics he did not know under his breath.

He sang and hummed a lot more than Arthur remembered him doing in Camelot, and he assumed this was a trait Merlin picked up some time later on. Merlin said it was because he was happy, even when he didn't have an immediate reason to be so.

However, Merlin wasn't always as happy as he claimed. Arthur would often find him with a thousand-yard stare, like the earth was whispering to him in a language only he, the land, the water, and the wind knew how to speak. On other occasions, he would start awake from a nightmare that he never recounted for Arthur during the day. But no such lapses were overcoming Merlin at the moment, and he carried on mumbling until the song reached a part he knew:

_I hope you don't mind_  
 _I hope you don't mind that I put down in words  
_ _How wonderful life is while you're in the world_

Arthur looked at Merlin sidelong from the passenger seat, thinking he knew the reason for Merlin's happiness.

They arrived in the opposite part of town, where the houses were slightly bigger and had a better view of the Tor. Merlin parked the car along the curb behind a line of others. It was a clear enough day, and Arthur heard music drifting down the street from the back garden of one of the homes. They followed the sound until indistinct chatter and laughter accompanied it, and the sellotaped sign on the front door read in curvy handwritten letters,  _COME THROUGH THE GATE_! A smiley face punctuated it.

"William!" cried a woman with dark black, wavy hair almost as soon as Arthur and Merlin went through the gate. She exuberantly waved them over from a little ways down the fence, where she was refilling a bowl of crisps on the snacks table.

Arthur followed Merlin through the crowd, politely nodding a greeting at anyone Merlin said hello to.

"So glad you could make it, William," she said to Merlin when they reached her, and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before her eyes turned to Arthur. "And, Arthur, so good to see you again."

She offered her hand to him, and he shook it while saying, "And you."

But it was a lie. It wasn't that he didn't like Jaclyn; she was a wonderful woman. But she reminded him somewhat of Morgana—in the way she would point to things with a lofty and elegant wave of her hand or the way she walked, tall and confident, through onlookers. Or the way she said Arthur's name. Every time he saw Jaclyn, he couldn't help but to see Morgana before . . .

Shaking it from his mind, he asked, "What's the occasion?" Looking around, he didn't see any birthday banners or celebratory balloons. There was a mix of people in the garden: adults in clusters talking over drinks and children running around in play.

"Oh, just a bit of a get together, really," Jaclyn told them. "I thought it would be nice to relax a bit. We're going on a busy time, right, William?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin's jaw tense ever so slightly before he nodded in agreement.

"I know we won't get anyone in until Christmas time, but the preparation for them is always hectic." Jaclyn gave a sad sort of sigh as she looked off towards the guests. "Besides, I just wanted to get everyone together. You never know who won't be here after it all."

Arthur raised a brow at this, confused as to why her eyes were filling with moisture, no matter how she tried to collect herself.

"After  _what_  all?" he asked, turning to Merlin for back up. Merlin was already looking at him, surveying him closely in that distant, neutral way of his.

Jaclyn let out an unsure noise. "The Cleansing," she said as though it were obvious.

Arthur shook his head in ignorance. "Which is . . .?"

She narrowed her eyes at him as though he were some exotic specimen from another planet, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Merlin cut her off.

"Uh, Arthur, Jaclyn's husband has a knife collection. Isn't that right, Jacs?"

She eyed Arthur for another moment before saying, "Yes, he does."

"Arthur  _loves_  that sort of stuff," Merlin continued with passion. He placed his open palm between Arthur's shoulder blades and rubbed small circles. "You'd like to see that, yeah, Arthur?"

Before Arthur could do more than stutter at the sudden change of topic, a smile spread onto Jaclyn's face and she said, "I'm sure he'd be very keen to show you. Honestly, he's always looking for reasons to talk about them."

She stood on her toes and searched around for someone in the crowd. Apparently, she found him, because she waved him over. Two men appeared at their side shortly, one almost middle aged and trying desperately to hold on to his hair, and the other a boy in, Arthur thought, his early twenties.

"Dr. Smith, hey," the latter said, holding out his hand to shake Merlin's.

"Alright, Alex," Merlin greeted, and then to the other, "Hi, Elliot."

"Elliot, you know William—from my work?" Jaclyn said to her husband, and Elliot nodded rapidly.

"Of course, of course!" he said as though he just remembered a truly exciting memory.

"This is his partner, Arthur," Jaclyn continued, gesturing in that Morgana-ish way again, and Arthur was starting to feel a little put on the spot. "We were just talking about your hobby."

Elliot's eyes lit up.

"That so? I was just telling Alex here about it, actually," he said, clapping the boy on the back. Alex's eyes were suddenly wide and overwhelmed. Arthur had foreboding feeling that he was about to suffer the same misfortune Alex had just gone through.

"And you are?" he asked Alex, trying to prolong his fate just a little longer.

"Alex is a houseman at the hospital," Merlin explained. "He's been there for . . .  _six_  months?"

"Seven," Alex corrected. "Close."

"Do either of you collect?" Elliot cut back in, a little eagerly.

"Not as such," Arthur answered.

"But he's great with a blade," Merlin interjected helpfully, making Arthur feel strange under the unwarranted attention. "You should see him."

"Well, would you like to see mine?" Elliot asked Arthur hopefully, pointing a thumb to the house. "They're just inside."

Arthur cleared his throat, flashing Merlin a surreptitious glare. "Why not?" he agreed with a pushed smile.

Elliot's eyes fell to Merlin and Alex.

"Um, thanks, Mr. Bryant, but I'm quite peckish. I'll think I'll grab a burger." With that, Alex walked away, and Arthur wished he could do the same.

"William's staying here," Jaclyn told Elliot pointedly. "Leave your little collection to those interested. Harrison and the other children will be glad to see him, anyway." She turned to Merlin. "They just love your magic tricks."

"Oh, is that why I got an invite?" Merlin joked into a smirk. "I'm going to have to start charging you."

Jaclyn laughed at this. "But really, I don't know how he does it. All the kids in pediatrics love it—and don't forget Mrs. Rogers. William almost put her back into cardiac arrest."

Merlin smiled innocently.

"You still haven't told me how you pulled a live dove out of her ear," Jaclyn went on.

"A magician never reveals his secrets, I'm afraid," Merlin answered vaguely, making Arthur snort.

"You're telling me," he muttered.

"Anyway, you two boys go have fun," Jaclyn said, "and help yourself to some food, Arthur. Come on, William, I'll introduce you to some of the neighbors."

Arthur watched helplessly as Merlin drifted away at Jaclyn's side, getting lost in the crowd.

"So, um," Elliot said, causing Arthur to shift his eyes on him, "shall we?"

Arthur tried really hard not to sigh.

* * *

"And  _this_  beauty here," Elliot said, holding up a tarnished, eroded blade carefully with both palms, "is a ceremonial dagger from pre-dynastic Egypt. Cost me a pretty penny, this."

They'd been looking at the knife collection for almost an hour now. It was kept in the spare room on the upper level of the house, and Elliot had everything from bowie knives to a limited edition Swiss Army knife. Most of them were placed on pieces of satin and contained in glass boxes, and Arthur felt like he was in some kind of fetish museum, especially because all the display cases were locked. With each blade, Arthur hovered awkwardly over Elliot, nodding and humming whenever he was asked a direct question that he really hadn't listened to.

They were only about halfway through the collection, because Elliot just  _had_  to talk about each blade in detail, and Arthur's mind spun into daydreams. He remembered what Jaclyn had mentioned earlier about the Cleansing, and he wondered what it was and why it was said with such an ominous tone, or why it warranted a get together.

Trying to distract himself as Elliot went on about the significance of daggers in pre-dynastic Egypt, Arthur peered towards the other end of the room, mentally counting off how many more cases he'd have to sit through, when his eyes landed on a large display on the back wall. There was a long broadsword lying flat inside, its silver and gold colors glinting in the sunlight that floated through the window. It's engravings casted reflections on the white wall.

"What's that?" Arthur asked, cutting Elliot off. For a second, Elliot stumbled on his words, but his gaze followed Arthur's, and a fond grin found its way to his lips.

"Ah, yes," he said, putting down the dagger and relocking its case. "That's the newest in my collection. Come look."

Bypassing the rest of the cases, Arthur followed Elliot to the back. He looked inside at the sword, and his fingers twitched towards the hilt, itching to break through the glass and wield it.

He'd know that sword anywhere. It was a part of him.

When Arthur remembered to breathe, he asked, "Where did you find this?"

He'd thought he lost it forever.

"Here in town, actually," Elliot said, folding his arms over his chest smugly. "A couple of hikers found it in St. Michael's Tower. They knew about my collection, so they came round to ask me about it. Beauty, isn't it?"

Arthur nodded, not able to speak past the lump in his throat.

"Trouble is, no one can seem to put a date to it," Elliot went on, this time with Arthur's full attention. "We know it's British and medieval, but that's about it. I took it in for testing at a few museums in London, but no one can figure it out. It's old, but it's in perfect condition." He leaned into the glass. "See the markings on it? We can't even tell what  _language_  that's in. And it isn't forged like anything anyone's ever seen before."

The sight of it made Arthur's heartstrings sing with longing. He remembered the first time he held it, when he drew it from the stone. He could picture exactly where he'd place it in his chambers at night. He recalled the balanced weight of it as it swung from his hip or twirled in his wrist.

He didn't realize how homesick he was until that moment.

"May I . . .?" Arthur dared. He didn't know what he'd do with it once it was back in his hand. Would he run with it? Would he cut Elliot down if he got in the way? Maybe just holding it would be enough for now.

Elliot looked pained. "Sorry, but no. Can't have anyone messing with it. I'm taking it back to the Natural History Museum for appraisal at the end of the month. 'Til then, it stays put."

" _Appraisal_?" Arthur repeated, offended. He looked at Elliot scornfully, but the man didn't seem to notice.

"Yup!" He looked back to the sword. "One of these days, I'll figure you out." Next, he looked to his wristwatch and started a little. "Oh, is that already the time? We should be getting back outside before people start to worry."

He clapped Arthur on the shoulder happily, making Arthur sway slightly but the annoyed look didn't leave him. Elliot scampered towards the door and, with one more wistful look towards his sword, as though promising he'd come back for it, Arthur followed.

* * *

On the patio, Arthur found Jaclyn speaking to a few of the nurses Arthur recognized from whenever he would visit Merlin at the hospital. "Where's Mer—William?" he asked her a little urgently, correcting himself at the last second. He could never get used to calling Merlin by that name, or anything other than Merlin. He didn't care how many aliases Merlin had gone by over the years; nothing was as fitting. Although, he briefly wondered if Merlin had ever gone by Arthur, or if that name was strictly off limits.

"Over there," Jaclyn said, motioning towards a group of cheering kids and adults near the corner of the fence. "He's performing."

When Arthur reached the crowd, he shouldered his way through the adoring fans until he got to the front of the adults, right behind where the children were sitting on the grass. In front of them, Merlin was levitating one of the little boys in midair. He made the boy do a somersault, much to the crowd's amusement. They all clapped and gasped, and Arthur saw Alex laughing in disbelief as he snapped a few pictures with his mobile.

Catching sight of the scolding look Arthur was giving him, Merlin's smile faded slightly and he placed the boy safely back on the ground. He bowed dramatically low in the sudden applause.

"Do me next!" a small girl shouted.

"No, me!" called a boy.

"No, no, sorry," Merlin said, though he was lapping up the attention. "Show's over, I'm afraid."

The children groaned, as did some of the adults, but they accepted it and the crowd dispersed.

"You're getting careless," Arthur warned Merlin as he got closer.

Merlin rolled his eyes. "They think its parlor tricks, Arthur. I could make it snow right now and they would ask me how I did it."

" _Do not_  make it snow, Merlin," Arthur demanded with agitation.

Merlin wrinkled his nose. "What's the matter with  _you_?"

Arthur dropped his shoulders and rubbed his index finger into his eyelid tiredly. "It's Elliot. His collection, Merlin.  _Mae wedi fy cleddyf_ ," he said, forgetting himself as he ground his teeth.

Apparently Merlin understood, because he was taken aback.

"He's got your  _what_?" he shouted, loud enough for a few people to look over at them. Arthur looked to his right at the nearby snacks table, where Alex was lingering. They'd drawn his attention, too, so Arthur grabbed Merlin by the elbow and led him further away.

"How?" Merlin asked in a harsh whisper, shaking Arthur off of him.

"He said it was on the Tor."

Merlin bit his lip in thought. "Are you  _sure_  it's yours?"

Arthur shot Merlin a glare through his eyelashes, silently expressing how idiotic the question was.

"Right."

"He's taken it to museums for examination, Merlin," Arthur said, feeling his skin crawl in sympathy for the blade. "Can you image? All those chemical tests and then being committed to a life of collecting dust behind locked glass."

"We'll get it back," Merlin promised, and Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed.

"How? Unless you plan on burglaring your co-worker's house."

Merlin lifted both eyebrows. Arthur tilted his head and stretched his mouth open to speak.

"It's not burglary if the thing stolen isn't his in the first place," Merlin cut him off quickly.

"We are not going to do that!"

"Well, what, then? You can't exactly explain the situation to him."

Arthur sighed, knowing it was true, but robbery seemed a little extreme. It was so . . .  _common_.

"I'll think of something," he said, staring back at the patio, where Elliot and Jaclyn were coming out of the house with a sheet cake held between them.

"Can we go yet?" Arthur asked hopefully. He couldn't stand to be there any longer, so close to what was rightfully his but not able to wear it at his hip.

Merlin hummed. "After cake."

"Always with your stomach," Arthur groaned. "Fine. Perhaps they'll use my sword as a cake cutter."

"That would certainly make it easier to rob," Merlin muttered, making Arthur shoot him another sidelong glare. Looking innocent, Merlin defended, "I'm just  _saying_."

Arthur shook his head at him.


	3. Chapter 3

Nearly a week had gone by since the party and Arthur still couldn't come up with a reasonable tactic to rescue his sword from a cruel life of imprisonment. He had to admit, Merlin was quite right: He couldn't very well tell Elliot the truth, and he couldn't think of a lie strong enough for Elliot to hand it over right then and there. And he was certain taking the sword by force would only lead to a situation involving the police.

Sometimes he hated not being king anymore.

It was true that his head felt lighter without the weight of the crown, and he didn't have hundreds of lives under his care or threats lurking like shadows in his doorway. But, if he were still king, he'd have his sword back by now.

Four times, during his morning jogs, he ran all the way to Jaclyn and Elliot's house, the furthest he'd ever run, just to build up his nerve. He'd hoped that, in the hour and a half it took to jog there, he'd come up with something, but he had no such luck. Instead, he learned that Jaclyn usually worked the morning shifts at the hospital, Harrison caught the school bus at five minutes past eight, and Elliot left the house at the same time for work.

It wasn't like Arthur had been spying on them. These were just simple observations, of course. Although, when they all came together, he knew an empty house would be the best setting to steal— _reclaim_ —something, if necessary.

The idea nagged at him throughout his waking hours, and he'd even had a dream about it one night. He was confident that Merlin was a bad influence on him, but the notion of stealing his sword back seemed more like the best option with each passing day.

By the time the weekend rolled around, he'd resolved to go through with it. However, he knew he'd have to wait for the workweek, when the house would be once again empty.

The opportunity presented itself when Merlin's alarm blared at six in the morning on Tuesday, and, disgruntled, he dragged himself out of bed for an early shift. When the front door clicked shut and the car rumbled out of the drive a half hour later, Arthur sprang out of bed and got dressed in his running clothes. If he left soon, he'd get to the Bryants' house shortly after they'd all gone.

As predicted, the house was empty and silent when he reached it. There weren't any cars in the drive or parked along the street, and the windows looked dark. Checking around to make sure no one had seen him, Arthur pushed into the wooden gate and into the back garden. It was a lot bigger without partygoers jam packed into the space, with a small garden shed along the fence and flowerbed encompassed by decorative rocks nearby.

He headed straight for the backdoor and gave the knob a jiggle. Locked.

He searched for somewhere a key might be hidden, like beneath a gnome or welcome mat. Merlin had taken to putting their spare key under a flower vase, because Arthur forgot his so often in the beginning and would have to wait outside in the rain until Merlin could sneak away from the hospital. However, it seemed the Bryants were more careful than Arthur when it came to remembering their essentials, and he didn't find a hidden key.

He remembered the thieves in Camelot, who would sometimes break the door handle to get into the room beyond. It seemed they were always repairing locks around the castle, especially in the armory and the crypts.

Collecting a round rock from around the flowerbed, he brought it back to the door and hit it against the golden knob. The doorframe shook as the metal rang dully, so he gave it another blow.

He smirked at the rock. It would seem he was rather good at this burglary lark.

The knob got bent out of shape, its golden color chipped and scratched, and the paint of the door around the handle got scuffed every time the rock made contact with it. After a few more attempts, the knob hung loosely from the door. One more hit and it fell cleanly off, leaving a splintered hole behind.

Arthur pressed his shoulder against the frame and forced the door open before stepping into the kitchen beyond.

He paused once inside, listening closely to make sure all was silent. He heard a soft scuttling, and looked to his immediate left to find a ginger tommiecat run up to him and loop around his ankles. It jumped up onto the kitchen chair and blinked at him with light eyes. Arthur blinked back.

"Um . . . Hello," he told it.

The cat gave a meow before jumping back down and running past him out the door.

"No, wait!" he called after it, his stomach dropping. He knew he shouldn't stay in the house for long, but he also heard stories of pets escaping into the middle of the road and being run over by cars. The cat was such a small thing, and he didn't know how long cats of this century could fend for themselves outdoors. He'd always had dogs, strong carnivorous hunters.

If it had been a dog, he wouldn't have been so worried.

Letting his nerves get the better of him, he went back into the garden and took a sweeping look around the area. His eyes rested on the wooden gate, which was still closed and there was no gap beneath it for the cat to fit through. Thinking it must still be in the garden, he checked all around until he finally spotted it crouched in hiding between the flowers.

"Come on,  _cath_ ," he whispered, gesturing for it to follow. It didn't move.

"Look, I haven't the time for this," he tried to reason with it, but it was a cat and therefore did not respond to debate. Arthur ran his palm down his eyes in thought. An idea struck him. "Stay there."

Hurriedly, he went back into the kitchen and searched the contents of the fridge for some meat. That was how the dog boys would train the mutts in Camelot, so perhaps it would work on a cat. Presently, he found cuts of turkey and brought the whole packaging outside. The cat was still lying in the flowerbed when he returned, and Arthur dropped down to his hunches.

He ripped off a piece of turkey and outstretched his arm to the cat, brandishing the meat. He made a kissy noise to entice it further.

"Come on,  _cath_ ,  _dod yma_."

Tentatively, the cat stood up and eyed him with interest.

"It's good. Nice and tasty," Arthur beckoned. " _Dod yma_."

The cat walked forward and sniffed the meat. Then, it snatched it from his fingers and swallowed it whole.

"That's right.  _Cath da_ ," he said, ripping off another piece and tossing it over.

Trying his luck, he scooped up the cat in his hands and stood up, holding it close to his chest.

"Who's a good boy?" he said, running his fingers through its fur. He fed it a few more scraps and the cat rumbled with purrs as he headed back inside.

Closing the door behind him, he set the cat down the tile and gave it the last of the meat.

"Alright, now, you stay here," he told it firmly before starting off. The cat meowed and trailed after him.

"I haven't got anymore food," he told it, showing it his empty palms. "Shoo.  _I ffwrdd_."

The cat pawed at his ankle, eyeing him hopefully for another treat.

Arthur rolled his eyes before starting on again. "Fine, have it your way."

The cat did. It trudged besides him up the stairs, occasionally brushing against his ankles as they went. Other than its meows, the house remained quiet. All Arthur heard was the distant whirring of a fire engine.

He reached the collection room quickly and immediately rushed to the display case in the back. His sword still lay in it, resting on a satin red cloth, and catching the rays of sunlight coming through the window. He smiled down at it, remembering the touch of its perfect metal. He had died with that sword in his hand. It had been buried with him.

He'd see to it the same was true the second time around.

He dug his nails into the crease in the glass, hoping the trap would open, but Elliot had locked the case. The key must have been somewhere. Arthur searched the room, pulling out drawers and shuffling papers to find the key ring. He paid no mind to the background sirens growing louder.

When he couldn't find the key, he resolved to just breaking the damn glass. What was a little more property damage, after all?

He picked up the wooden chair by the desk in the corner of the room and got a running start. He swung the back of the chair into the glass, but all it did was bounce off and unsteady him. He backpedalled, staring at the glass in shock. There wasn't even a scratch on it.

But he was determined. Repositioning his hold on the chair legs, he gave another swing. This time, it scuffed the glass but did little more.

" _Beth yn uffern_!" he yelled in frustration. He utterly hated this century and its apparent indestructible glass.

At once he realized the sirens were blaring.

He sniffed the air, wondering if one of the houses on the street was on fire.

The sirens stopped prematurely, and Arthur noticed a glare stream across the walls of the room he was standing in. Someone had pulled into the drive.

His mouth suddenly felt like cotton, but he placed the chair down and sidestepped to the window. Careful to stay towards the side, he peered out and saw two police cars parked in the drive. The drivers were getting out of each, exchanging muffled words and pointing around until one of them started for the back garden. The other walked up the porch towards the front door. Seconds later, Arthur heard knocking.

He clutched his fists at his sides and bared his teeth, wondering if the police would go away if he remained very still and very silent. It didn't seem likely, especially when he heard movement from downstairs.

"Back door was forced open," he heard through the floorboards. "Looks like a break-in."

The walkie-talkie crackled into life. "Back-up?" the muffled voice from out the window said. Downstairs, it echoed in a crackling and grainy way.

"Nah, it looks like they're long gone," the policeman said. "I'm doing a sweep."

Arthur felt his heart stop momentarily. He searched around for somewhere to hide, but the space was quite open. Not knowing what else to do, he headed for the door to the room, praying a floorboard wouldn't protest beneath him along the way. When he reached the door, he pressed his back against the wall and grabbed the knob, holding the wood as close to his chest as possible. With any luck, the policeman would just peer into the room and that would be all.

Arthur heard the pitter-patter of paws. He looked down his side, where the tommiecat had sat down, staring right up at him.

He gave it wide, pleading eyes.

" _Dim_ ," he hissed at it. " _Fynd_."

The stairs creaked as the cop made his way up them.

The cat meowed.

Arthur shook his head furiously at the animal, trying to make it go away.

It meowed louder, pawing at the air for his attention.

The creaking of the floorboards stopped, and Arthur knew the policeman had paused to listen out for the sound. Arthur held his breath. The cat meowed.

The footsteps resumed until they were just outside the door, and Arthur tried his best to remain very still. He thought somehow his heartbeat was hooked up to a stereo system.

The cop padded into the room, looking around with his baton out, and his eyes eventually fell to the cat. It hissed at him and ran behind the door, curling around Arthur's ankles. At once, Arthur knew it was all over.

For a brief moment, he considered waiting for the cop to get close enough for Arthur to slam the door in his face and make a run for it. The policeman must have anticipated something of the sort, because he came at the door from the side and tore it open, holding his baton at the ready.

He glared at Arthur, and Arthur looked back guiltily.

"Oh," Arthur said after a pause, swallowing hard. He nodded politely. "Good morning."

* * *

At least this jail was more comfortable than the dungeons of Camelot. For starters, there was a metal bed jutting out of the wall with a bare mattress on top. It was a plastic mattress, albeit, but at least it wasn't hay.

It was a holding cell, and Arthur was crammed in it with two other men. One was standing next to the window, and he hadn't stopped eyeing Arthur since he got there. He was tall and muscular and dressed head to toe in all black leather and Arthur thought it best not to look him in the eyes.

His other cellmate was Bonkers Bobby, who had apparently made too much of a nuisance of himself this time. He was sitting on the floor with his chin pressed to his collarbone as he snoozed.

Arthur sat on the bed, his back pressed against the wall.

Something buzzed and the barred door slid open. Intimidating Leather kept his eyes fixed on Arthur and Bonkers Bobby woke up with a start and a sniff. He wiped the drool off his lips with the back of his wrist. Arthur looked at the guard standing in the threshold hopefully.

"Bail's been paid, Mr. Pennington. Come with me," the guard said, and Arthur sprang to his feet in relief.

He tried walking out as casually as possible, not wanting to seem like he was rushing away from the man whose eyes he could still feel burning into his shoulders. Bonkers Bobby was already snoring again.

The guard shut the cell behind Arthur and they walked the length of the corridor together. When they reached the door leading back into the precinct, something else buzzed, and the guard held the door open for Arthur.

"Consider yourself lucky you didn't have to stay overnight," the guard warned as Arthur walked by him through the door. "September seventeenth. Cleansing selection starts tomorrow. They like to begin in jails."

Arthur furrowed his brow, perplexed, keeping his eyes on the guard in hopes of an explanation. The guard said nothing else, however, and simply closed the door with himself on the other side. Arthur shook his confusion away and looked out at the room before him, cluttered with police men and women, desks, paperwork, ringing phones, and indistinct hushed conversation.

He spotted Merlin in the crowd, drumming the fingers of his right hand on the reception desk and chewing on the nails of his left. Arthur steeled himself and pushed towards him, catching Merlin's eyes about halfway.

He smiled awkwardly, and Merlin dropped his fingers from his lips and gave him an amused face, raising one brow. Arthur couldn't look him directly in the eyes. He looked at Merlin's nose instead.

* * *

"How can an alarm be silent?" Arthur moaned, now in the safety of the car as they drove home. "Alarms are supposed to make noise!"

Behind the wheel, Merlin shook his head. "Not always. Not anymore. I would have told you that if you had let me help you. What's the fun of a solo heist?"

"I didn't think it would be  _that_  difficult," Arthur defended.

"Well, you're just lucky they're not pressing charges," Merlin told him. "Although, we'll probably have to pay for the door. And I doubt we'll be invited to any more of their parties."

Merlin took his eyes off the road long enough to shoot Arthur a stern glare, but it didn't last. A humored smile erupted onto his features, and he laughed at the miserable expression Arthur was giving him.

"It's not funny,  _Mer_ lin!" Arthur snapped.

"No, it's just," Merlin laughed. " _You_. This is so unlike you. Breaking and entering."

"And failing," Arthur reminded him.

Merlin pulled a face and shrugged. "Rome wasn't built in a day." Like he'd know. He wasn't  _that_  old.

Arthur groaned, dreading his next words. "I should apologize to them."

"Something tells me they won't want to see you."

"But I should. It's the right thing to do."

Merlin's smile was a lot fonder now. "That sounds more like the Arthur I know."

Arthur sat back in his seat, watching the scenery whip by and trying to draft what he was going to say to Elliot and Jaclyn in his head. But his thoughts soon turned to what the guard had told him, and he remembered Jaclyn talking about the Cleansing at the party. He still didn't know what it was.

He rolled his head on the seat to look over at Merlin, who had his eyes on the road.

"You know, it's funny," Arthur began carefully. "When I was leaving, the guard mentioned the Cleansing."

If he didn't know Merlin, he wouldn't have noticed his fingers tense against the wheel.

"It seems like that's all anyone can talk about these days."

Merlin smacked his lips indifferently and nodded. He gave a noncommittal hum.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the impatience out of his tone.

"Oh, nothing really," Merlin said airily, or so he thought. His tone seemed pushed. "It's just a medical thing that happens every two years. People blow it out of proportion."

"What sort of medical  _thing_?"

"Just—just  _research_."

Arthur narrowed his eyes to study him, and he got that queasy feeling in his stomach again. This time, he couldn't ignore it. Merlin didn't return his gaze.

"What are you not telling me?"

Merlin let out a scoff, like a laugh but not quite. He did it a second time, turning his bright eyes on Arthur before looking front again. His gaze continued to relay between the two points.

" _Nothing_ ," he insisted, his smile resembling that of a plastic doll. "It doesn't concern you."

"It  _concerns_  me that you're lying through your teeth," Arthur said pointedly. "We said no more secrets."

"Arthur," Merlin said frigidly. This time, he really was talking through his teeth. Pronouncing each syllable clearly, he said, "It doesn't concern you."

Arthur stared at him hard, and there was a pause filled by the rumbling of the engine and the wind whipping around the car. Merlin let out a deflating breath, and he quickly reached into the backseat and grabbed his jacket. He flung it onto Arthur's lap.

"There. You want to apologize? Go ahead," he said.

"Don't change the subject," Arthur warned, remembering that Merlin had done the very same at Jaclyn's house.

"I'm not. The subject is you getting arrested," Merlin countered. "Phone Jaclyn and say you're sorry, if you must. My mobile's in the pocket. It has her number in it."

"I wanted to do it in person," Arthur answered stubbornly.

"Well, you can't just show up on their front stoop uninvited, Arthur," said Merlin, sounding snippy but trying not to. "They might think you're there to rob them again."

Arthur exhaled, knowing Merlin was right.

"Fine," he conceded. "But don't think we're done talking about this."

Merlin brushed him off with a quick hum.

Arthur reached into the first pocket he could find, his hand connecting to something cold and metal. Assuming it was the mobile, he slid it out, but it wasn't a phone at all. It was a round object, weather beaten and ancient, with a little rusting, but he was able to make out the sparrow in the center of it and the grooves of the X-shape behind the bird.

He flattened it into his palm, staring down at it in awe.

He was aware of Merlin's eyes on him.

"Why do you have this?" Arthur asked, feeling a lump forming in his throat.

"You . . . gave it to me?" Merlin answered, sounding unsure.

"No, why . . ."

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. When he opened them, he made eye contact with Merlin.

"Why do you have it  _now_?"

Merlin surveyed him, apparently forgetting about the road, until he said, "I don't know. I always have it. Habit, I suppose."

Arthur heard the meaning behind the words, and he looked down at the sigil again.

"You kept it all that time?"

"Of course," Merlin said, like the notion of anything else was utterly ridiculous. "It's a part of you, Arthur."

Arthur tensed his jaw and ran his thumb against the rough surface. He felt pressure building in his eyes, but he forced it back.

He cleared his throat and put the sigil back in the jacket pocket. He searched until he found the mobile. He still had no idea what to say to the Bryants, but he was feeling a little more self-assured now.

He tapped on Jaclyn's number.


	4. Chapter 4

Merlin turned his head to the side and panted into the linens. Arthur felt his long fingers clutching at his golden hair and forcing his head in place. He sucked red marks into Merlin's stomach beneath his bellybutton and ran his flat tongue around the delicate trail of hairs leading downward.

It was strange how one thing always led to another with Merlin. How Merlin's teasing that Arthur was now a hardened criminal led to wrestling on the couch between grunts of "I'll show you hardened criminal," which led to sporadic kissing and wandering hands, which led to racing into the bedroom, which led to Arthur's face between Merlin's legs as he kissed his inner thighs and Merlin gasped in hitching breaths.

Merlin hummed from somewhere deep in his throat when Arthur ran his lips down his arousal and took him into his mouth. Merlin squirmed his hips and parted his legs a little more as Arthur stroked him with the tip of his tongue. He glanced up Merlin's chest, watching it rise up and down in an uncontrolled way while Merlin skewed his eyes shut and chewed on his lower lip. Arthur worked his lips up and down, leaving trails of moisture and letting out hot breaths that made Merlin twitch. He wrapped his fingers above his mouth and twisted lightly.

And he couldn't help but to laugh at the sounds Merlin made. The idiot.

The noises eventually turned into a reputation of Arthur's name, muttered just loud enough to hear. The lamp on the dresser started to flicker.

"Just—just a little more," Merlin breathed, more to himself than to Arthur. He gave a shallow grunt when Arthur gave a long pull. He wouldn't be able to able to contain himself for much longer. "Arthur—"

"Mhm," Arthur hummed nonchalantly against the warning. The vibration left Merlin completely undone, and he started bucking into Arthur. The lamp blinked like the bulb might explode. Arthur dug the pads of his fingers into Merlin's hips, holding him steady as Merlin came, warm and sweet, into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur listened to Merlin breathe for a while, focusing on the damp rattles that filled the room. He nuzzled his nose into Merlin's lean thigh and pecked a quick kiss to the skin. Merlin chuckled deeply before grabbing at Arthur's shoulders in attempt to pull him up.

"Come here," he said into a smile as his hands fumbled, and Arthur crawled up his body to meet him.

Merlin grinned sleepily up at him, his eyes shining a little like stars, and Arthur trained his lips into a pouty smirk. Merlin took Arthur by the wrist and brought his hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle until he began sucking on his fingers down the silver band on Arthur's index.

Arthur gave a bark of laughter. "You completely fail at being sexy, Merlin."

Merlin rumbled with mirth and withdrew Arthur's hand. He picked up the pillow beside him and pushed it into Arthur's nose with a rather pathetic battle cry, forcing him away. As Arthur sputtered in the face-full of pillow, Merlin took the opportunity to hook his knee around Arthur and flip them over so he was on top.

"Cheater," Arthur chided after he'd thrown the pillow to the floor and let his head fall back to the mattress.

Merlin looked smugly victorious as he brought his knees up to straddle Arthur. His hot fingers drummed along Arthur's ribcage, tapping along the grooves and spaces, as he surveyed Arthur's chest like he didn't know where to start.

Arthur's eyes trailed to the tattoo on Merlin's wrist, and a corner of his mouth quirked up at it. Sometimes Arthur would trace the outline and claim that he'd branded Merlin for himself. Arthur didn't know how long Merlin had worn it on his skin, or what possessed him to get it in the first place, but he never asked.

Merlin's glance flickered upwards to Arthur's glossy lips, and he licked his own before angling himself towards them. Arthur lifted his neck up to meet him.

Soon, Merlin crept along Arthur's jaw line and down his neck. It left Arthur a little dazed as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glazing over.

" _Iawn yno_ ," he hissed when Merlin hit a tender patch.

There was still quite a bit Merlin did not remember from that language, but Arthur knew he loved hearing it. He always felt Merlin smile into his kisses after Arthur had uttered a phrase. It made Merlin kiss the skin above Arthur's heart or run his lips along a beating pulse point.

" _Aros gyda mi_ ," Merlin would sometimes say in return, a little sorrowfully, like Arthur was going anywhere. But it was the only thing Merlin remembered how to say in their language.

Merlin met Arthur's lips again and folded his hands over his biceps. He leaned back, making Arthur sit up to chase him. He writhed his hips a little, slowly bouncing himself up and down on Arthur's lap. Arthur instantly felt warmth in his belly. He buried his face into Merlin's collarbone and grunted while his hands clutched on to Merlin's shoulder blades. Merlin's own fingers explored the curves of Arthur's back like every tensing muscle was a familiar, secret hideaway that he could escape to.

Arthur looked up at him, resting his chin on Merlin's skin, like he hung the moon.

" _Dwi'n dy garu di_ ," he promised.

Merlin only laughed happily and cupped Arthur's face in his hands. "You'd better."

He took Arthur into a lazy kiss and reached down to run his palm between Arthur's legs.

* * *

Arthur carefully extracted himself from Merlin and edged out of bed. He tried to be as quiet as he could, not that it would make much difference. Sex always knocked Merlin right out, and he'd sleep all night. Arthur had figured that out one night during a loud thunderstorm that shook the house and turned off the electricity, leaving them with only one thing to do for hours. Arthur hated taking advantage of that knowledge, just as he hated sneaking around, but he needed answers. Besides, it served Merlin right for pulling that little stunt with Ygraine's sigil earlier, even if Arthur truly was flattered by it.

He made his way towards the desk, unfolded Merlin's laptop, and sat before it. The light of the screen filled up the darkness with a pastel glow, but Merlin remained silent and unmoving beneath the covers.

Arthur blinked at the small icons on the bottom of the desktop, trying to remember which one was the Internet. It took him a few tries before the  _Google_  homepage came up, and Arthur searched  _THE CLEANSING_  hopefully.

The first thing that came up read  _News for the Cleansing_ , and Arthur followed it to a list of articles. The top article seemed to be some kind of guide, telling people how to act if they were "chosen," along with an interview from what the article called a "survivor."

Arthur mouthed the word back at the screen. From his experience, anything with survivors wasn't a good thing.

He clicked on the next article, which began:

_Since its first trial in Autumn 2015 in the UK, Eleazar Inc. has been attempting to spread its program to neighboring European countries, as well as parts of North and South America. This year, they may achieve that goal. Although their research practices have been legalized in the UK, many citizens across the globe are calling them a "violation of human rights" while others still praise the corporation's works._

Arthur skimmed the rest of the article, learning that Eleazar Inc. worked to find cures for diseases of everything from AIDs to the common cold. It operated through the use of what the article called "volunteers," human subjects who would be injected with one of the diseases and kept in Eleazar's facility for treatment and testing. The article didn't mention what the tests entailed.

Apparently, it began during a health scare in 2014, when a disease called Ebola became something of an epidemic. Eleazar Inc., which had lived in the shadows until that time, provided a miraculous serum that completely cured a handful of people that had contracted the virus. The serum worked better than any other experimental drug at the time, securing Eleazar's fame.

_With the help of the Secretary for Health, Eleazar received government funding_ , said the article.  _Since the last Cleansing in 2017, the corporation has gained recognition by WHO. As a result, there have been negotiations with the Department of Health to make Eleazar a GPO, allowing the corporation to become global. A vote will be held amongst DH officials at the conclusion of this year's trial period._

Clicking back to the results, Arthur found a video, which appeared to be a news debate from 2017, right before the second Cleansing took place. He bumped up the volume just enough to hear.

" _What this is is domestic terrorism!"_  one man yelled in what seemed to be the middle of the argument. He was animated in a passion, while the other suited man shook his head defensively from across the table. Behind them, red and white graphics on monitors blazed dizzyingly.

Arthur immediately turned the volume down a few bars, looking over his shoulder to make sure Merlin hadn't woken up. All Merlin did was sniff and roll over in bed like he couldn't be bothered, so Arthur turned back to the screen.

" _It_ might as well _be terrorism, Bob,"_  the first man continued, jamming his index finger onto the tabletop.  _"This so-called pharmaceutical company is taking people from their homes—"_

" _Whoa, whoa, whoa,"_  the other man chimed in, holding his palms up to stop the other from talking. It didn't work.  _"It's not quite doing that—"_

" _No, no—they are taking people from their homes, and giving them fatal diseases!"_

" _It's not like these are upstanding citizens, Paul,"_  the second man said with a scoff that sounded like a laugh.  _"Eleazar goes for the prisoners first, the homeless. Not to mention—"_

" _Civilians are most certainly used!"_

" _Excuse me, not to mention—most of the volunteers are already sick to begin with. This is giving them an opportunity—"_

" _Volunteers? That's a euphemism, Bob, since everyone's forced to be a volunteer just by being a citizen,"_ the first cut in.  _"And what about Mary Davis? Was she a criminal, Bob?"_

A picture of a smiling young black girl appeared on screen. She looked no more than ten.

" _She had stage four kidney cancer, Paul—!"_

" _And maybe she would have lasted a little longer if not for Eleazar!"_  the first defended.  _"Their so-called cure-all seems to speed up the sicknesses instead of curing them! Nearly_ half _of the people_ kidnapped _by Eleazar die within the three months of the trial period, and do their mourning families even get to bury them? No! Eleazar_ keeps _the bodies, and for what? Further research? I think we should start asking what they're hiding—"_

Arthur clicked out of the video, no longer able to stand it. He felt sick, and yet he couldn't stop himself from clicking on the next video. This one showed a reporter standing on the sidelines of a large crowd outside Parliament Palace. It was dated from earlier that week.

" _With the third biennial Cleansing upon us, citizens from across the city have gathered in protest outside Parliament to put an end to Eleazar Inc.'s program_ ," the reporter began, speaking into the camera. " _However, those in favor of the research have been putting pressure on their representatives to not give in to the protestors' demands. Since the first trial four years ago, and with thousands of volunteers, many have been supportive of Eleazar's practices, calling them a radical but necessary response to humanity's deadliest diseases._ "

The picture cut away to a middle-aged man and woman outside a suburban home. The woman spoke into the microphone held in front of her,  _"Yeah, I think it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better. Are people dying? Sure, but once there are cures, a lot more people are going to be saved. Every test helps researchers get closer to a cure."_

" _Margot Wilson has lived with type one diabetes all her life,"_  a voiceover said as images of the interviewed woman played out, showing her in her routine: hospital visits, self-administered insulin injections, cooking dinner with her husband, and so on.  _"She has three children, two of whom suffer from type two diabetes."_

" _If Eleazar asked you to volunteer, would you go?"_  the reporter asked Margot Wilson, who seemed to consider the question for only a short pause.

" _Yes. Absolutely."_

Cutting back to the scene outside Parliament, the reporter continued,  _"While the Department of Health maintains that Eleazar's work is striving towards saving lives, some supporters also claim Eleazar's current death toll has a positive impact on the nation's population control."_  Arthur's brows shot up into his hair as she went on,  _"With less people, there are more available jobs and resources, and some professionals even speak to the environmental benefits brought about by—"_

Arthur clicked out of the Internet application, staring blankly at the desktop image, a picture of he and Merlin that Merlin had taken with his mobile. All the information tumbled through Arthur's furious mind so quickly that he couldn't seem to grasp one thought for very long.

He glared down at Merlin's smiling face on the screen, then looked over his shoulder at Merlin's sleeping figure—peaceful and relaxed against the horrors of the world. Arthur didn't know why, but he blamed Merlin for all them in that moment.

* * *

Arthur didn't get much sleep that night. He spent most of it tossing and turning, watching the numbers on the clock change for hours. He finally gave up at around five in the morning in favor of standing in front of the window on the lookout for unmarked vans or mysterious trucks driving by, just in case he needed to save anyone from being forced into the back. No such thing happened, no matter how long he held his breath, and soon the sun was washing over the neighborhood. He moved into the kitchen and plopped down heavily at the table.

At around seven, Merlin joined him.

"You're up early," he said into a yawn. Merlin brushed his fingers through Arthur's hair as he crossed behind him towards the fridge, causing Arthur to tense slightly.

"What's for breakfast?" Merlin went on, leaning into the refrigerator. "How about eggs? Did you eat yet?"

Arthur kept his eyes front, staring at the white wall.

"Why did you hide this from me, Merlin?" he asked softly.

"Hide what? The eggs?" Merlin laughed. "They were behind the milk, you prat. Try looking with your eyes next time."

"Not the eggs, Merlin," Arthur hissed through his teeth, starting to feel his blood boil. He twisted around to face Merlin. "I know everything."

Merlin's face fell instantly, his eyes going hard. "What are you talking about?"

"Eleazar! I researched it last night after you'd fallen asleep!"

Merlin dropped his shoulders and looked off. He let out a sigh like he knew this conversation was inevitable.

"How could you not tell me, Merlin?" Arthur demanded. "People are dying!"

"I know," Merlin whispered, barely moving his lips.

"How could you let this happen?"

Merlin's eyes snapped back to Arthur, something dark behind them. His tone, however, was light, "It was hardly my choice, was it? They don't just phone me for my opinion every time they pass a new law."

"Other people seem to be protesting," Arthur countered.

"That won't do anything."

"At least it's  _something_!"

"You researched it  _once_. You don't know all about it. There's more to it than what the Internet says. It's medical trials, Arthur—"

"Then why not just take the sick people? Try to cure them?" Arthur interrupted. "Why take healthy people, too, and  _make_  them sick?"

"Naturally occurring diseases are harder to contain. They spread more erratically, and they could be at any stage prior to testing. You wouldn't understand."

"No, I understand. It's oppression."

"It's science."

"You said I was I alive again for a reason, didn't you?" Arthur asked. "What if  _this_  is the reason?"

"I don't think so," Merlin said, shaking his head.

Arthur gaped at him, not sure what to think. "Merlin, how can you honestly just stand there while people are living in constant fear? What sort of government is this? Killing its citizens like this is no way to rule."

Merlin let out a choked sound, seemingly collecting his thoughts. "Not everyone thinks it's a bad thing, Arthur."

"And what do you think?" Arthur demanded, standing up. "Do you agree with what they're doing?"

Merlin swallowed hard, staring at Arthur with a neutral expression that made Arthur's stomach churn. He wasn't sure he wanted to know Merlin's answer.

"No," Merlin said simply, almost carefully. "It's awful."

Arthur was relieved by the words, but the way Merlin was searching him up and down didn't do anything for his nerves.

"But, I have to admit," Merlin began slowly, making Arthur's heart skip a beat, "the research has its benefits."

Arthur felt staggered. He gripped on to the back of his chair for support, but he was aware of Merlin's eyes on him. Before he'd even made the conscious decision to move, he was starting out of the kitchen.

"Arthur," Merlin snipped after him. "Where are you going?"

" _Cachau bant_!"

Merlin didn't call his name or follow after him when Arthur rushed out of the house. That, Arthur thought, was the biggest difference between this Merlin and the one he once knew in Camelot.

It was a chilly morning and Arthur had to hug his jumper closer to his body as he walked onto the pavements. The usual joggers were nowhere in sight, and no cars zipped past. He didn't even hear a single dog yapping. He had the strangest feeling that he was the only person in town—in the whole of Great Britain, even—but he assumed his neighbors found it best to stay inside until the Cleansing's selection was over.

Everyone thought this new world was so much better than the old days—free, advanced, educated. Arthur wasn't so sure. With all their technology and all their rights, these people were living under a microscope. Their every action was categorized, their every word documented.

And now this?

Gaius never had to resort to fear to cure an ailment. Arthur never had to kidnap or kill people to protect others.

He stopped walking immediately after that thought, thinking of all the soldiers he killed on the battlefield and unable to count all the men, women, and children he and his father executed as sorcerers.

Perhaps the world hadn't changed very much at all. All that was different were the tactics.

Arthur looked around himself. He didn't know how long he'd been walking, but he found himself back at the graveyard outside of town. The tip of St. Michael's Tower was visible over the trees and sparkling in the morning sun.

At once, he felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up in the squirming sensation that he was being watched. He looked towards the ruined church, scanning the tombstones for signs of life. There were none.

He looked over his shoulder, immediately catching sight of the woman in red he'd seen the other day. She was snapping another picture of him from the base of the hill. Realizing he'd seen her, she turned around and immediately ran at full speed up the incline.

"Wait!" Arthur called at the top of his voice, but she didn't slow down. He bolted after her until he felt a stitch in his side, but he didn't relent. He called for her to stop whenever he caught a breath, slipping back into the old tongue in his preoccupied mind. She eventually cut through someone's back garden.

He wove after her until they were three houses down, and a wooden fence blocked her way. He grabbed her tightly by the arm and spun her around to face him. Her eyes were as big as saucers as she tried to break free.

"Who are you?" Arthur shouted over her grunts. "Why are you following me?"

"I'm  _not_ ," she tried, not very convincingly, as she continued to struggle.

"Why are you taking pictures of me?" he yelled, shaking her like a doll. Her breath caught and she stopped moving immediately.

"I don't know, they asked me to," she told him in a small voice, unable to look him in the eyes.

"Who are  _they_?"

"Eleazar," she admitted, distressed.

Arthur couldn't do anything but blink and gape.

"They said I'd never be taken in—me or my family. They said we'd never have to volunteer," she went on, sounding a little bit like she was pleading, "if I kept an eye on you and sent them reports."

"How long?" he demanded.

"A little more than six months ago," she said under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. She couldn't look him in the eyes. He didn't care.

"What have you told them?"

"Nothing, just—what you do. Nothing special."

"Who else have you been spying on?"

"No one!"

He didn't believe her.

" _Who else_!" he shouted, not meaning to shake her again, but she gave a gasp when he did.

"No one, I swear! Just you two, that's all."

"You two?" he repeated, his grip loosening on her. He was paralyzed with worry. She instantly ripped her wrist away and sprinted from him, but he didn't bother turning after her.

"Merlin," he realized.

He ran in the direction of home.

* * *

The door was wide open when he got there. The house was dark, only narrow beams of sunlight pouring through the cracks in the curtains.

"Merlin?" Arthur called out, searching the main room for any sign of a struggle but finding none. Surely, Merlin wouldn't go without a fight. Maybe he was still there; maybe there was still time for them to run.

" _Merlin_?"

There was still no answer.

Arthur found his way into the empty kitchen and pulled a knife from the block. He tensed his fingers around it, wishing more than anything that he had his sword. The silence buzzed in his ears, making his own heartbeat too loud; and then it was broken. He heard a floorboard creak from down the hall.

"Merlin?" he asked as loud as he dared, feeling his throat constrict. Holding the knife tighter, he stepped into the hallway and faced the direction from which the noise had sounded. "Merlin, is that you?"

He felt someone sidestep into the hallway from the living area behind him. A man's voice said, "Good morning, Arthur Pennington. I'm here to collect you on behalf of Eleaz—." Arthur didn't let him finish. He immediately spun the knife out. The man yelped and jumped back in shock. However, when Arthur went for him again, he was ready. He grabbed Arthur's arm with both hands and tried to push him away while Arthur shoved forward. Arthur noticed the man was in dark, padded clothes, like he'd been expecting a fight of some kind.

Arthur pulled his arm away, unbalancing the man enough to ram his elbow into his nose. The assailant let out a yell and backpedaled, clutching onto his face as blood seeped through his fingers.

Another man in uniform came out from the bedroom, and Arthur turned around quickly to anticipate him. He held out the knife in warning.

"What have you done with Merlin?"

"Take it easy," the man said in a calming voice, holding his palms up in goodwill and taking a few steps closer.

Arthur slashed the knife through the air, and the man jumped back. He pulled something from his side, metal and black. It looked like a gun, only the barrel ended in something flat. He pointed it at Arthur, who wasn't deterred by the sight.

"I don't want to use this on you," said the man beseechingly. "If you'll just come with us?"

"Where is he?" Arthur demanded again, gripping his knife and rushing towards the man.

And then he lost complete control. Something had struck him on the back. He felt an enormous amount of pain running through every inch of his body, making his joints lock and his muscles tense. His fist held the handle of his blade even tighter than before, until finally the pain stopped and he dropped it involuntarily.

He fell to the floor with a groan, distantly hearing the two assailants speaking to one another, but their words didn't process. His eyelids felt heavy and, try though he might to stay awake, he closed them into the darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

" _Rhyddhau i mi_!" Arthur raged, trying to rip his arms away from the men on either side of him forcing him down the long corridor. He blinked rapidly to combat his disorientation. The walls were blinding white against the florescent lights.

He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious, but he'd woken up alone and sore in the back of moving van, headed somewhere unknown. What felt like hours later, the doors were opened up to the bright sunlight, and he was forced out of the vehicle and onto a dirt road between a high fence and network of buildings. He didn't get a chance to look around for long before he was brought inside to the closest threshold but, from what he saw, there were only fields for miles around the facility.

" _Ble mae Merlin_?  _Yr wyf am ei weld!_   _Beth ydych chi wedi'i wneud_ —!"

One of his guards ignored him; the other, with bloodied tissues shoved into his nostrils, only glared scornfully.

Arthur was pushed through another door midway down the corridor, this time unaccompanied by his escorts. He stumbled into the room, just as white as the corridor, and watched the door slam in his face.

Someone behind him cleared his throat.

Arthur spun around instantly, all guards up, to find a rather pleasant looking bearded man in a brown suit and tie sitting at a table in the center of the room. Across from him was a metal chair, but the rest of the room was quite blank.

Arthur steadied himself, trying to bring himself into the moment—into the world.

"Where's Merlin?" he demanded, resolving to keep as much distance between himself and the man as possible. He scanned the room for another exit, but there was none. Surely, there would be guards stationed outside the door on his back? Even so, the corridor was too long to run down without being stopped.

The man gave him an amiable smile.

"Hello, Arthur," he said as though they had been friends for a very long time. "My name is Dr. Scott. I'll be processing you today. If you'll please sit down?"

Arthur shook his head violently. "Not until you tell me where—"

"Your companion is quite safe, I assure you," promised Scott. "You'll see him shortly."

Arthur clamped his jaw, standing perfectly still as his mind whirled. The doctor seemed content to just watch him.

"Why am I here?" Arthur asked after a short pause. "Are you going to infect me with something?"

Scott laughed softly. "No, no, Arthur. Not you. You're much too special for that. You and your friend."

"Special?" Arthur repeated as though the word were foreign. "Why me?"

Scott blinked a few times, his expression unreadable but his lips still curved in an infuriating smile. "You're Arthur Pendragon, are you not?"

Arthur felt his heart skip a beat, making him hyperaware of the rest of its quickened thumps.

"My name is Arthur Pennington," he corrected, but it sounded lame even to him.

"Yes, the records indicate that is the name you're going by these days, but it's not quite true, is it?"

Scott leaned in and narrowed his eyes, as though sharing a humorous secret.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur insisted.

"Oh, there's no need to hide it, Arthur!" Scott exclaimed, leaning back in his chair leisurely. "We've been keeping an eye on you, ever since your friend published his story of your return. Despite his aliases, it's quite easy to track a post's origin with modern technology, so we pooled our resources. We take reports of Lazarus Syndrome very seriously, especially if it occurs after thousands of years."

Arthur searched him. He barely understood of word of what Scott had said, but he wasn't about to admit that. "Why?"

"We're looking for a cure."

"A cure to disease," Arthur stated. "I did the research."

Scott chuckled. "No, Arthur. A cure to death."

Arthur's lips parted as he watched the doctor, not quite knowing what to say.

"Eleazar's biggest secret," Scott went on in Arthur's silence. "That's why we asked your neighbor to report back to us, to be our eyes and ears. She sent us daily briefings, photographs, let us know your whereabouts. Our very own field agent. She, of course, and the boy from the hospital."

Arthur instantly recalled Alex snapping pictures of Merlin at the party. He closed his eyes into the realization.

"I don't need confirmation, Arthur," Scott's voice blared through the empty space. "You've already given it to me, just now."

Arthur's eyes shot open again. "What?"

"The first thing you said when you came in here," Scott reminded him. "'Where's  _Merlin_.' And, of course, before you even got through the door. It's very uncommon for people to speak Welsh in these parts, especially Welsh that isn't  _quite_  modern."

The doctor raised his brow knowingly at Arthur, still smiling.

"Now, if you'll sit down, Mr. Pen-This-or-That," he went on, gesturing towards the chair across from him. He reached to his side and, seemingly out of nowhere, produced a small plastic kit and placed it before him on the table. He wasted no time opening it and snapping on pale latex gloves.

"What's that for?" Arthur asked, only daring to take one step forward to get a better view.

"We'll need a DNA swab and a blood sample from you," Scott informed him.

"Why?"

"For our records. It's required of all out patients and staff, right down to the caretakers."

His eyes flickered back to Arthur, who had not moved.

"The sooner you cooperate, the sooner you'll see Merlin," he said patiently.

Arthur lingered for a moment longer, considering whether or not he should try running down the corridor after all, but he could not abandon Merlin. Merlin had never left him.

He paced towards the chair and pulled it out from the table with a metallic screech before sitting on it.

"Excellent," Scott said. He held up a long cotton wisp in his gloved hands and reached towards Arthur. "Open up."

Arthur eyed him warily, but he obliged when his thoughts spun back to Merlin. Whatever was to happen, they'd figure it out together.

He felt the warm cotton roll against his inner cheek before being pulled away. He ran his tongue across the flesh involuntarily.

"Very good," Scott praised, placing the swab into a plastic tube and sealing it. Next, he took out a needle and flicked it with his nails. "Now, roll up your sleeve, Arthur."

Again, Arthur hesitated, but he decided to do as he was told. He felt pressure as Dr. Scott's fingers grip his forearm.

"Alright, Arthur. This will only sting a bit."

* * *

Arthur was unceremoniously thrown through another door, making him stumble backwards as the door closed tightly. He heard it click as it locked. Next, he looked to his left, where he was met with only a white wall with two ventilation shafts, one to put air in and one to take it out; both too high for him to reach and too small for him to fit through. Along that wall were a mattress, a folded blanket, and a pillow.

He peered to his right, met with a clear glass wall, allowing him to see the room beyond: a small observation room with a door in the middle of the wall and what looked like a control desk out of a science fiction film in the center of the tiles.

He was reminded of his sword in Elliot's collection, contained in a glass box with no way out, put on display.

"Arthur!" a familiar voice shouted from behind him, and he turned around quickly to see Merlin scrambling to his feet in a cell that exactly mirrored his. They were separated by another glass wall, but Arthur ran towards it as though he could break through and meet Merlin on the other side.

" _Merlin_! Are you all right?" Arthur worried, slowing to an inevitable halt at the glass opposite Merlin.

Merlin nodded and smiled softly. He had both palms pressed against the glass, leaving smudges on the clean surface. Arthur dropped his shoulders in a relieved breath and placed one of his hands over Merlin's. The glass was cool and hard.

"Merlin, they know everything," Arthur told him. "They know who we are."

"No they don't. They can't prove anything, Arthur," Merlin assured him confidently. As his mouth moved, his words were delayed by a fraction of a second, and they echoed like they were coming through a speaker. "We'll get out of here, I promise."

"That's certainly a big promise," came a female voice from the observation room. Arthur and Merlin turned their heads to face her instantly. She was a tall woman in a smart black blazer and dress skirt, with matching black hair pulled into a tight ponytail on the back of her head. She smiled at them like a predator would after corning its lunch.

Behind her, a small man came through the door and busied himself at the control desk.

"Look at you both," she said in a breath, like they were a prize of some sort, "the living discreditation of every historian who ever lived. Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, and Merlin Ambrosius, the Emrys."

Merlin's palms balled into fists before they slid down the glass from Arthur's. Arthur removed his hands and backed away from the wall, keeping his eyes fixed on the new woman.

"One of you has come back to the world of the living and the other simply can't die," she went on, shaking her head in awe. "Marvelous, truly."

"You're insane," Merlin told her forthright.

" _I_ am?" she said, sounding humored. "You're the one who wrote that story and based it off your friend here."

"And it's just a story," said Merlin blandly. "That's all."

"We thought so, too," she said. "We were curious when the tale collected a following. That was the only reason we were interested in you in the first place—curiosity and popularity. That was until yesterday."

Arthur and Merlin shared a quick look before their eyes returned to the woman.

"Yesterday?" Arthur inquired.

"When you got yourself arrested," she said. "That allowed us to access your records. Only, we couldn't find a single one on Arthur Pennington. No birth certificate, driver's license, credit card bills . . . It's like you sprang out of nowhere just over a year and a half ago, right around when the story was published online."

Arthur tensed but did not say anything.

"We found that curious, so we looked into his records, too." She nodded towards Merlin now. "Dr. William Smith, born on the twelfth of April, 1985 in St. Mary's Hospital; graduated from the Imperial College School of Medicine. No records of you attending any primary or secondary school before then, however. But it's easy to create one life, isn't it? Harder when you have to think of the peripherals.

"That's why we looked up your alleged parents' records," she continued. "We couldn't find a scrap on them. They were just names on a document, nothing more. Your birth certificate was a fake. A good one, but a fake nonetheless."

"That doesn't mean anything," Merlin said. "People fake their identities all the time. We could be anyone."

She raised a thin brow. "Do you mean to tell me you're both world-class criminals, and he got tripped up by a silent alarm?"

"Stranger things have happened," said Merlin.

"But nothing as strange as the pair of you."

Merlin bristled, but remained quiet for some time.

"Alright, you've caught me," he said at last, pulling a nonchalant face. "I'm immortal."

She smirked. "No need to brag."

"Trust me, I'm  _really_  not."

"He's right," Arthur chimed in. "This is ridiculous. You can't honestly believe—"

"Arthur, this organization was founded on certain ideas," she cut in as she strode forwards. Her heels clacked against the floor. "We believe we can put an end to the unknown, to stop death even after it's taken hold of a human being. Our founder got the idea from the Arthurian legends, you know? He was fascinated with the notion that, one day, the famed king would return."

Arthur felt Merlin's gaze boring into him, but he did not return it.

"Once and Future Enterprises: that was our name before we picked something more suitable. Eleazar. It was the biblical Lazarus' Hebrew name before it was Latinized."

"So, what I'm hearing," Arthur began slowly, "is that you're  _not_  the boss?"

The woman shuffled slightly. "No. I'm Dr. Eliza Woo. I'll be representing our founder."

"Well, if he's so obsessed with me, why won't he meet me himself?" Arthur countered.

"Arthur," Merlin warned quickly, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Dr. Wilt is currently . . . indisposed."

"He's not here?" Merlin said, humor now in his tone. "What? Is he out sick? That'd be a kicker."

Woo stared at him hard. "I won't be distracted by this. If you won't tell us the truth, we have other ways of getting to it."

"Sounds fun," Merlin challenged.

"I assure you it isn't," she promised, and her lips curved back into a red smile. "But have it your way."

She nodded towards the man at the controls, who started pressing buttons.

Nothing was happening, but then Arthur turned towards Merlin's cell. It was filling up with something cloudy and gaseous, coming from one of the airshafts. Merlin remained perfectly still, his gaze fiercely carving up Dr. Woo. He looked as though he was trying to remain defiant but, after a few seconds, he started to cough.

"What are you doing to him?" Arthur demanded, trying to remain calm but failing miserably. "Merlin?"

Merlin brought both his hands to his neck, rubbing and clawing as though he were being suffocated. Gagging noises escaped his throat.

"Merlin!"

Arthur ran back towards the glass barrier, putting his hands on it and forcing his weight forward, as though he could break the wall. It didn't budge.

Merlin was opening and closing his mouth as though fighting for air whilst underwater. He stumbled towards Arthur at the barrier and hit his palm to the surface for support. The other hand was still at his throat as he doubled over.

"Stop this!" Arthur panicked, his eyes furiously turning back to Woo. She stood there like she was waiting for something interesting to happen. "You'll kill him!"

He looked back at Merlin, who met his stare with red eyes. He slumped against the glass, sliding downwards as though too weak to stand any longer. His eyes began to flutter wearily, and his chest rose and fell shallowly.

"Merlin . . ." Arthur breathed. He flung away from the wall, towards Woo. "Stop it! Do you want me to talk? Fine! I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, son of Uther Pendragon! There, I said it! Let him go!"

Woo did not shift her position.

Arthur ran back to Merlin and crouched down next to him. He held his hand to the glass, wishing he could reach through it to shake Merlin awake.

"Merlin, get up," Arthur demanded. " _Mer_ lin!"

Merlin didn't flinch. His chest was no longer rising, and he'd gone very pale.

Distantly, Arthur heard the whirring of a fan, and the gas in the chamber started to lesson. Merlin still remained motionless.

"Merlin," Arthur pleaded under his voice.

Nothing.

He felt his jaw tighten as something burned in his heart. He cast that heat towards Woo.

"You," he breathed, getting to his feet and rushing towards the front glass. He beat his fist into it once, but the panel didn't shake.

"You've murdered him!" Arthur raved. "How many more have to die? I'll kill you!"

He beat with both fists now, willing the glass to shatter. All it did was make his hands red and sore, but he persisted.

" _Byddaf yn lladd chi_!"

Behind him, Merlin coughed and sputtered again.

Arthur registered Woo's eyes lighting up like Christmas before he turned to face the sound. Merlin was still slumped weakly against the glass, and his eyelids were still droopy, but he was alive and the air in his cell was clear.

Arthur called his name and rushed back to Merlin's side.

Merlin plastered on the biggest smile he could muster, which wasn't very big at all.

"What if you were wrong?" he teased Woo, as though this were a game.

"Then, you wouldn't have been much use to us, anyway," she replied.

He pulled a face and tilted his head to the side as though to say "fair enough," but it only resulted in more coughing.

"Well, I'd get comfortable, gents. We've got a vote coming up at the end of the year, and we'd quite like to be privatized. All that hinges on our progress," Woo told them, standing a little straighter than before. "Somewhere in your genes is the answer to all our questions. Welcome to the family."

She turned back around and headed out the door, her assistant following in her wake.

* * *

Arthur sat on the floor of his cell with his back pressed against the glass, staring at the white wall across from him. Behind him, Merlin was doing to the same, but he'd taken to hitting the back of his head against the glass with varying amounts of force.

"Stupid Merlin," he kept muttering to himself. "Stupid, old Merlin . . ."

"If you're trying to get me to pity you, it isn't working," Arthur told him at last.

Merlin stopped hitting his head.

"Pity? I thought you'd be happy. You've been right all along: I  _am_  an idiot."

Arthur sighed. He turned his head slightly to look at Merlin out of the corners of his eyes.

"You shouldn't blame yourself," he said, and on second thought added, "even though this is entirely your fault."

"No one likes to hear 'I told you so.'"

"But everyone likes to say it."

Merlin didn't answer, so Arthur assumed he agreed.

"Alright, perhaps it's not  _entirely_  your fault," Arthur conceded with a breath. "I'm the one who got arrested."

"They would have looked into your past eventually," Merlin said. "It was only a matter of time. I should have never posted that story. I should have just let it be."

He hit his head hard against the wall that time, eliciting a grunted, "ow!" He rubbed the back of his head, and Arthur chuckled, but his smile soon faded. His glance flickered to the wall above the desk, where a black CCTV camera was casting its glare on them. Merlin had assured him there was no microphone in it, but Arthur was still unsure. He didn't like being watched.

"What are they planning on doing with us, Merlin?"

Merlin took a thoughtful pause before answering, "Me? They'll probably try to kill me a few more times—wire me up to a bunch of machines to monitor my neurology when I come back. You?" He shook his head. "I don't know. They'll look into your DNA."

"But they already have it," Arthur said. "They took it during processing."

"I know, mine, too," Merlin said, "but it'll be more invasive than that."

Arthur didn't like that word,  _invasive_. Even though he wasn't entirely certain what it meant, he could guess its equivalent.

"That doesn't sound very fun," he put lightly.

"I can't imagine it will be."

Arthur looked back at the solid wall before him, wondering how many other patients were trapped within Eleazar's base.

"We can end this," he said, almost to himself. "If they find what they're looking for in us, the experiments can end."

Merlin let out something close to a laugh. "I forgot how self-sacrificing you are."

"But it's true. No one else need die."

"Everyone has to die eventually, Arthur," Merlin said softly. "No one should live forever, and I'm speaking from experience."

Arthur twisted around to get a better look at Merlin. "But that doesn't mean people have to die in this way."

"I'm not letting you roll over on this, Arthur," Merlin said defiantly. "We're getting out of here."

"I have no intention of giving up," Arthur clarified, "but we're not leaving until we run this place into the ground first. If we get out, so does everyone else."

Merlin let out another scoff, almost humored, but he didn't answer. Arthur swiveled back around.

"How can you do it, anyway? Bring people back from the dead."

"You can't."

"But if you could."

Merlin seemed impatient, but he complied. "I've heard a few rumors—people working on a serum made of stem cells and enzymes from other organisms, like reptiles, that can regenerate cells. I'm not sure it could bring people back from the dead, but it might help prolong life."

" _What_  are stem cells and enzymes?"

"Just listen."

Arthur settled in.

"Anyway, everyone thinks the formula is a myth—a bit too sci-fi, a bit too advanced. But maybe Eleazar is trying to make it a reality. Maybe they're trying to find the right formula."

"And they couldn't just come out and  _say_  this is what they're researching?" Arthur wondered.

"It's a little controversial, don't you think? I'm not just talking stem cell research. People will call it unnatural." He scoffed. "Religious people will fly off the handle."

"And kidnapping people  _isn't_  controversial?"

"You've made your point," Merlin snipped. "Any other complaints?"

"A few." Arthur settled himself again with an exhale. "Why make people sick? Why not just kill them in the first place?"

Merlin shrugged. "If it were me, I'd first want to test whether the formula could rebuild damaged or diseased cells and create healthier tissue before figuring out if it can create life. Baby steps. You give patients a dose of it a day instead of traditional medicine, see what happens."

"The news reports said they weren't releasing the bodies after they died," Arthur remembered. "Does that mean they're still injecting them after death?"

"Could be."

"Could that  _actually_  bring a person back from the dead?" He just couldn't believe it, which was a bit ironic considering that he'd come back from the dead himself.

Merlin snorted. "Maybe with a little bit of prayer."

"Or a little bit of magic," Arthur said pointedly.

Merlin fell silent, causing Arthur to look over his shoulder at him again.

"Well, don't give  _them_  that idea," Merlin advised. "There isn't exactly a plethora of magic in the world anymore, I really don't want to work for this lot all my life."

A slit beneath both of their doors opened simultaneously and silver trays of food were shoved beneath them before the latches snapped shut again.

"Looks like dinner's ready," Merlin said, picking himself up to walk towards the tray. Arthur did the same, finding a meager meal of steak, greens, soupy mashed potatoes, and a cup of water.

"Shame," he heard Merlin say. "I was rather in the mood for a kabob tonight."

"This isn't funny, Merlin," Arthur reproved, picking up the tray anyway.

Merlin sighed. "It never is."


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur woke up to a loud banging sound. It echoed through the small space, making him feel like he was in a glass bottle rather than a room. He tore his eyes open quickly, and immediately recognized the sound was coming from the door, which opened soon after to reveal an orderly in white scrubs. They were like the kind Merlin wore at the hospital, only not a ridiculous, obnoxious color.

"We're here to take you to your appointments," the orderly said said.

Arthur blinked himself fully into consciousness, trying to figure out who "we" were. From the looks of it, the orderly was alone. It then occurred to Arthur to look over his shoulder, across the glass that he and Merlin had pushed their mattress against to sleep closer together. Merlin was already sitting up in bed, pulling on his shoes in annoyance. There was an orderly in his doorway, too.

Merlin jumped up to his feet, not bothering to tie his laces beforehand.

"Let's get this over with," he said, sleep still croaking in his tone. His orderly turned to leave and Merlin followed after her. He cast a look over his shoulder at Arthur as he walked, shooting him what he must have intended to be a reassuring glance. In reality, his eyes were cold and insolent, and they flickered up to the man standing at Arthur's door.

"They hurt him and I'll hold you personally responsible," he threatened.

"Alright, come on, tough guy," Merlin's orderly said, holding the door open for him. They both disappeared through it, and Arthur finally turned his attention to the man before him.

"You heard her. Let's go," the orderly said, nodding towards the door.

Arthur clamped his jaw tight and gave him a piercing stare. He didn't like some goon telling him what to do. He stood up and stalked closer to the man.

"If they hurt  _him_ , I'll hold you responsible, too," Arthur warned once he was close enough. The orderly held his own for a few seconds before his gaze flickered away.

"Let's just go, please," he said with exasperation, gesturing for Arthur to lead the way, no doubt to keep an eye on him.

The walk was longer than Arthur had anticipated, and it seemed the building he was in was larger than he'd originally thought. He didn't see any other patients or employees along the way, but he was aware of black CCTV cameras whirring as they turned to follow after him each time he rounded a corner. All the doors in the corridors were shut and identical, and Arthur wondered what was behind each of them.

Finally, the orderly trailing behind him asked Arthur to stop at one of the doors. Arthur watched as he pulled out the zip cord on his belt and touched his ID badge to the black sensor on the wall. It beeped and the light changed from red to green, and the orderly pushed the door open.

Inside was a room that looked very similar to the one in the hospital Merlin had taken Arthur to the day after he'd returned. There was an examination table with a paper sheet pushed against the wall, a metal stool for the doctor to sit in, and a counter with a sink and cabinets. Arthur scanned its contents, clocking the white balls of cotton in a glass jar along with the sharper supplies in sterile plastic casings. The air smelled similar to Merlin's hospital, as well: much too clean and clinical, and Arthur had the strangest sense that the stench was coming from the walls.

"The doctor will be in shortly," said the orderly, standing at the door while Arthur stepped further into the room. He gestured towards the table. "Have a seat." With that, he shut the door and left, leaving Arthur alone.

The buzzing sound of silence coming from the florescent lights above filled his ears. He didn't like that room. It made him feel unclean, like he was a contagion being attacked by an antibiotic. There wasn't even a window allowing him the solace of knowing he wasn't completely alone in the world.

Arthur continued to search around, wondering if there was a hidden camera somewhere amongst the medical supplies. He didn't see anything that resembled a recording device when he stepped closer to the counter. He picked up one of the packages off the pile and turned it over to the clear side. Inside was a needle, and Arthur wondered if it could do any damage. It probably wouldn't cause any real harm.

He remembered the other tools he'd seen in Merlin's hospital: sutures and shiny metal scalpels. Perhaps he could find something like that, something he could use to defend himself with. He tore open the overhead cabinets, but all he was met with were innocuous bandages, gauzes, and rubbing alcohol.

There was a clicking sound, and the door opened again. Arthur hurried to close the cabinets, but he was sure Dr. Scott had seen. He tried his best to look innocent, folding his hands behind his back and pushing a tight smile in Scott's direction. Scott kept one hand on the door while the other clutched a tablet. His eyes flickered from Arthur to the cabinet, but he didn't say anything. He was dressed smartly again, in black slacks and shoes and a light blue dress shirt. He had a tie depicting Daffy Duck in various humorous positions, and over it all he wore a white lab coat.

"Hello," he said, obviously having decided not to call Arthur out on snooping. "How did you sleep, Arthur?"

Arthur remembered he shouldn't have been smiling at the man. He was the enemy, after all.

"Badly," he spat. "I was in a  _cage_."

"A cage?" Scott parroted, seeming truly taken aback. He made sure to close to the door behind him so they could speak privately. "What do you mean, a cage?"

Arthur scoffed bitterly. He wasn't going to fall for the faux concern. "As if you don't know!"

"I'm not in charge of the living arrangements, Arthur," Scott said, chuckling like this was all some big joke. It made Arthur bristle and tighten his fists at his side.

Scott gestured towards the table with his tablet. "Please, sit down so we may begin the examination."

Arthur eyed the table. He didn't want to give Scott the satisfaction of doing what he said. "No breakfast first?" he asked, saying the first impudent thing that came to mind. He wasn't as good at insubordination as Merlin.

"I'm afraid not today. The tests we have to get through are better done with a clean system," Scott explained. "But lunchtime will come before you know it. Now, please, if we could begin?"

Arthur still hesitated, but he finally moved across the room and lifted himself onto the table. Scott cast him a pleasant grin that made his beard scrunch up, and he plopped down on the stool in front of Arthur. Arthur didn't like the way Scott was looking up at him, like he was a prop that Scott could do whatever he liked with.

"Now," said Scott, powering on the tablet and producing a stylus from his breast pocket. "I just have to ask you some preliminary questions. Have you been eating well, getting enough exercise?"

Arthur didn't see why this was necessary. Eleazar probably knew more about him than he did. "You've apparently been spying on my every move," he said. "I'm sure you already know the answer."

Scott cocked his head to the side and crossed his legs patiently. "Perhaps the powers that be know such things, but I know very little about your personal life, Arthur. I would like very much for you to answer my questions."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to decide whether or not to believe him. Scott was a hard man to size up, but eventually Arthur thought it best just to get it over with.

"Yes," he answered. "Yes to both."

Scott marked something down on the screen. As he did, he asked, "Do you smoke?"

Arthur sighed. "No."

"Take drugs?"

"No."

"Alcohol?"

"Wine, but not in excess."

Scott chuckled and looked up from the tablet. "I should have known. Red wine for a king."

Arthur sneered at him, but Scott didn't seem to notice.

"Are you sexually active?" he asked, looking back down at the tablet.

Arthur jerked his head back in shock and let out a few stuttering noises. Certainly, that wasn't any of Eleazar's business!

"Why do you need to know that?" he shouted.

"Please, answer the question, Arthur," Scott advised coolly, not looking up from his screen.

Arthur clutched at the sides of the examination table. He didn't like this one bit. "Yes," he said like he was ripping off a band-aid, looking anywhere but Scott.

Scott hummed and ticked something off. "How many sexual partners have you had in the last year?"

Arthur felt his cheeks turn hot. "One."

"Female or male?"

"For god's— _Merlin_!" Arthur yelled, just wanting that round of questions to be over.

Scott raised a brow and tilted his head up slowly. "Really?" he asked like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "My god, those legends certainly got it wrong, didn't they?"

Arthur couldn't take another moment of this. "Are we done?" he asked through bared teeth. "Where's Merlin? I want to see him."

"You'll be able to do so later on," Scott said. He powered off the tablet and stood up. Walking to the counter, he snapped up a pair of latex gloves from a box and tore open some of the clear packages.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound as worried as he was. He didn't like the looks of all those black and silver bits now laid out on the counter.

"Examining you," Scott said like it was apparent. He took a silver stethoscope out of the cabinet and brought it over to Arthur. "I need to listen to your heart," he explained and put the ends in his ears.

Arthur tried not to recoil as Scott slowly brought the metal closer and snaked it down the collar of his shirt. The tool was cold, like when Merlin had touched his to Arthur's skin on that first day, and this time Arthur minded it. He gritted his teeth against the initial frozen sting.

Scott twisted his eyes up to the ceiling and listened, and Arthur found himself automatically trying not to breathe. Not wanting to be helpful, he tried taking in sharp breaths instead.

"Your heartbeat is a rather high," Scott told him. "There's no need to be nervous."

"I'm  _not_ ," Arthur snipped.

Scott only gave him another understanding smile as he withdrew the stethoscope. Next, he reached behind Arthur and placed the metal on his back. "Deep breaths, Arthur, thank you."

The rest of the examination was almost exactly like what Merlin had put Arthur through. Scott tested Arthur's reflexes by hitting his knees; he shined a light in Arthur's eyes and ears and told Arthur to follow his finger with his eyes. He made Arthur balance on one foot and walk in a straight line. He checked Arthur's blood pressure by wrapping something around his arm and letting it squeeze the life of him like a snake with its prey.

He never told Arthur any of the results of the tests. All he did was mark things down on his tablet and intermittently hum with interest.

"All right, Arthur, very good," Scott said at last, and Arthur gave a breath of relief. He was ready for this to be over. Merlin was right, it  _had_  been invasive, but not in the way he'd expected. He was expecting something like vivisection, like he'd seen the actors in alien costumes do to humans in the science fiction films Merlin had him watch.

Merlin kept an ever-growing list of films, telly, and books Arthur had to catch up on. Although, it seemed they always ended up watching  _The Wizard of Oz_  instead of anything on the list, as it was Merlin's favorite movie. After a while, Arthur gave up on Merlin and decided to watch or read whatever he could get his hands on. The media was his prominent teacher in this new world, but he found he had no idea how to react when Scott came at him with inquiries and stethoscopes instead of knives and lasers.

All of this rather caught him off guard, if he was being honest.

"Are we done now?" Arthur asked hopefully, shuffling on the table. The paper crinkled beneath him.

"Almost," Scott told him. He tossed his current pair of gloves into the aluminum bin and put on a fresh set. "Please stand up and drop your trousers."

Arthur gaped. " _What_?"

* * *

Scott led Arthur into another room down the corridor, and he was chatting away like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Arthur barely listened to him. He couldn't even look at him. He felt too . . . Uncomfortable.

This room was different from the last, but still familiar. There was a treadmill in center with thick cables running from the base and hooking up to computer monitors. Next to the monitors stood a small Indian woman with glasses and a lab coat that matched Scott's. She looked up quickly when they entered.

"Arthur, this is our lab tech, Gloria," he introduced. "Gloria, this is Arthur Pennington."

It wasn't lost on Arthur that he'd been addressed by his alias. He forgot his awkwardness and snapped his attention to Scott in curiosity.

Gloria, none the wiser, nodded to Arthur and pushed her glasses closer to her eyes with her index finger. She looked back at the computer she was leaning over without a word.

"Don't be offended," Scott whispered to Arthur. "She's a bit shy, is all."

Arthur kept his eyes on Scott, trying to figure him out. He got a sense that Scott wasn't the man he was letting on. Arthur wondered who he really was, and what he really knew.

"Now, if you'll take off your shirt and step on the treadmill?" Scott asked, now at a normal volume, as he stepped closer to the machine.

Arthur did as he was told. He knew what was going to happen, because Merlin had run the same test. However, Arthur didn't feel as much like a guinea pig when Merlin had done it. Maybe that was because he'd been too distracted—and too handsy—and Merlin had mooned over him like he scarcely believed Arthur was real.

"This is to check my heart again?" Arthur guessed, remembering what Merlin had told him. He stepped onto the treadmill and clasped his hands on the plastic black handles that jut out. He glanced over the various buttons and arrows, and the auxiliary jack for an iPod.

"Yes, that's right. It's an EKG," Scott said, sounding impressed. "Like I said, your pulse was a little high while you were at rest. I'd like to monitor you when active."

Gloria came over and began sticking nodes to Arthur's chest. He watched her hands fly across his torso as she did so, and he tried not to react to how chilly her fingers were, but she never met his eyes.

When she reached up to tape two nodes to his temples, Arthur jerked out of the way.

"What's that for?" he asked, suddenly untrusting.

"Just to monitor your neurological waves," Scott explained, even though Arthur had no idea what he meant.

Sometimes Arthur felt like a caveman who had just discovered fire in this new world. And he was too proud to ask questions.

So he nodded instead and let Gloria situate the nodes. She shuffled back to the monitors and started typing away.

"Ready when you are," she said in a thin accent, and Arthur was relieved that she could speak.

"Very good!" Scott exclaimed. "Let's start off slow, shall we?" He pressed the  _start_  button on the treadmill's controls and bumped the speed up to walking level. Arthur instinctively started moving.

It went on like that for what must have been forty-five minutes, in which Arthur switched back and forth from running to walking, and finally Scott shut the treadmill off.

Arthur was thankful for rest. He was exhausted. He wiped the sweat that had collected on his brow as Gloria came back over to rip the nodes off of him. He hissed a little whenever the tape took some of his hair with it, leaving his skin raw beneath.

Scott shook his arm to lower his sleeve and checked his watch. "Well, I should say it's time for lunch," he said happily, like he'd been waiting for this part of the day. "Arthur, would you like to accompany me to the canteen?"

Arthur tore his eyes from Gloria to give Scott his attention.

"Me?"

"Of course!" Scott laughed. "You have to eat." He snapped playfully in Arthur's direction before heading to the door. "Doctor's orders."

Arthur did not immediately follow after him. He'd expected to be taken back to his cell, to have another metal tray pushed through the slit in his door. Scott was offering him a table and chairs, and possibly other people. Arthur didn't know whether or not to trust him; but he suddenly felt a rumbling pit in his stomach, and realized he hadn't eaten anything all day.

He was famished.

"Are you coming, Arthur?" Scott asked, holding the door open expectantly.

Arthur collected his shirt, slipped into it, and followed Scott through the door. He offered Gloria a look over his shoulder as he left, but she did not return it.

He was led towards the edge of the corridor, still silent and empty, and turned into another. Arthur could hear nothing but the background hum of the lights and their footsteps. He wondered where Merlin was, and if he was offered lunch at the canteen, too.

"Ah, there's the room in which we first met," Scott said, pointing towards a door that looked exactly like the rest. But he spoke as though he were reminiscing about meeting an old friend. Arthur's eyes flickered to the door briefly as they passed it. He didn't share the same fondness for that room.

When they reached the end of the hall, Scott pushed through the door to the outside. Arthur winced in the sudden onslaught of sunshine. It was quite a different sensation from the sterile fluorescent brightness he was accustomed to, and he was momentarily blinded. The shift from artificial to natural light was one he could never get used to. While others could blink it away, the glare lingered in his irises for hours. People of this time period took that biological adaption for granted.

Shapes and color returned to him when used his hand as a visor, and it was easier to make out his surroundings without being manhandled. He and Scott were standing on a dirt road of which Arthur could not see the end, and he could not tell where it led. Beyond the high fence, there were fields and a distant wood, seeming to go on forever. Inside the perimeter of the fence were buildings uniform to the one Arthur had just stepped out of: wide and long, single storied, and made of metal. They looked like cylinder-shaped storage units. Arthur couldn't tell how many buildings there were on the campus, but he counted three in that area.

He trailed after Scott, off the clay road and onto the browning grass, as Scott squinted up at the sun and said, "Nice day we've got for a walk."

He wasn't wrong. It was temperate, with a soft breeze, and fluffy, nonthreatening clouds scattered the sky.

"Won't be a fun walk when it's raining," Scott prattled on, leading Arthur along the side of one of the buildings. There was no one else around, but with each step Arthur could hear disembodied shouts getting closer. From the distance, it sounded like there was a riot going on.

"That's why I thought it best to show you directly how to get to the canteen from here," said Scott, motioning ahead with his hands. "It's not too far when you know where you're going, but this place can be a bit of a labyrinth, if you ask me . . ."

Arthur wasn't listening to him. He was focusing on the shouts. Intermittently, the yells reached a crescendo before dying away. Something was going on. He eyed Scott sidelong, wondering if he heard it, too. Scott just kept talking, appearing unfazed and unworried.

Arthur tensed his fists at his sides, ready to get the jump on Scott if need be. If the patients had started a mutiny against the doctors, Arthur was more than happy to help. The revolt could work; they could all get out of there.

"No, not far now," said Scott, almost to himself, as they reached the edge of the building.

Arthur's heart was racing. He clamped his jaw. His knuckles turned white, his nails dug into his palm, and his muscles shook under the strain. He was coached his breathing, preparing himself for a fight.

They rounded the corner of the building, and Arthur stopped dead at the sight before him.

It was a field surrounded by more of the same buildings, only these didn't give off an institutionalized vibe. They had windows, and bushes were planted along the walls. On the pitch on the other side of the lawn, a football game was going on. Spectators were letting out yells and whoops of laughter. Those not watching were off to the side, on benches or picnic tables or in the gazebo. They were chatting together or reading. One woman was even knitting.

Arthur's muscles relaxed automatically, and his lips parted in a dumbfounded expression. This didn't look like a medical facility at all. It looked like a commune. The only thing that gave away their actual circumstances were the gray sweatpants and white t-shirt everyone was wearing. Some had dark sweatshirts on, too.

"Arthur?" Scott's voice reached him. He turned away from the patients and looked at Scott, hoping for an explanation. Scott said nothing. He merely gave a thin smile and backtracked to Arthur, patted him on the back, and gave him a nudge forward. Arthur's legs moved by their own volition.

They took him through the crowd to a building on the opposite side of the field. Its double doors were wide open, letting the breeze in, and there was a lounge area right through them. Tables and couches were set up, used by patients to play board games or eat their lunch. As Arthur followed Scott further, they passed a recreation room, where some of the younger patients were playing a loud, shoot-em-up video game on the telly.

Finally, they went through the thick fire doors of the canteen, which looked more like a buffet area. A wall of different fragrances hit Arthur as he looked around, watching spirals of succulent steam trail upwards from the trays of meat pies, pastas, and chips under heat lamps. There was one station in which a server was carving a turkey and offering it to queued up patients and staff.

Arthur stomach whined with longing and his mouth watered as he continued to scan the area. There was a salad bar, a sandwich counter, and even an ethnic station, at which the chalkboard beside it read,  _Today we are serving kabobs_. Merlin would have been pleased about that.

_Merlin_.

He searched the crowd of patients, moving away from those eagerly bouncing from one buffet stand to the next with their plates piled high and their eyes bigger than their stomachs. The canteen was packed with patients and employees either sitting down or looking for a place to sit. Some even passed by Arthur and Scott to bring their lunch outside.

There was a constant humming of voices and laughter, all blending together so Arthur couldn't focus on a single phrase. But he didn't pick out Merlin's voice in any of it. He couldn't find that familiar head of raven hair.

"Well, Arthur, why don't you help yourself and get to know some of your fellow patients?" Scott suggested, giving Arthur another firm pat on the back. He let his palm linger as he leaned in and showed Arthur his watch. "Let's meet back in the main building at two o'clock, shall we? Keep an eye on the time." He indicated the large digital clock hanging on the canteen's wall.

Arthur nodded, because his mind wasn't working fast enough to actually form coherent thoughts. Of course, as soon as Scott got lost amongst the honey baked hams and dessert tables, Arthur's brain flooded with questions.

Why was he given freedom to be amongst the other patients? Why did all the patients seem happy to be there? What was Eleazar really playing at? Most importantly, where on earth was Merlin?

Arthur's gut urged him to put those questions aside for the time being, convincing him there was nothing more important than eating. So, he made his way towards the first buffet table and picked up a tray, a plate, and some utensils. He walked up and down the rows, scanning for something to eat. Everything smelled delicious; it looked colorful and fresh.

Soon enough, his tray was filled and weighted, and he supposed he got a little carried away. He shouldn't be allowed at buffets.

Stepping away from the food tables, he stood still and looked for somewhere to sit. The canteen was still full, save for a few sporadic empty seats between groups. Arthur wondered if it was considered rude to take one of those chairs uninvited. He was so used to high banquet tables or end seats. He'd come to expect it. He never had to find his own place to sit.

Just as he was about to give up and find a secluded area out on the field, a voice in his ear said, "Shy, are you?"

He almost jumped and dropped his tray. His nerves were already shot from the fatigue of paranoia; he didn't need people sneaking up on him.

Turning his head towards the owner of the voice, he was met with a short, slightly pudgy brunette woman with a large grin plastered on her face. She didn't look much older than Arthur.

He stammered at her, not sure what to say.

"That's alright, you can sit with me," she offered. "I've got someone holding a few chairs. I'm Beatrice!"

"Um, yes," Arthur answered, trying to recover from the initial spooking she gave him. "Hello, Beatrice."

Her smile widened, if that was possible. "Wha'do they call you?"

"Arthur."

"Well, hullo, Arthur! C'mon, let's sit down."

With that, she brisked past him and skirted into the aisle between the tables. Not wanting to lose her, he hurried to catch up.

"So, Arthur," she began as they walked in single-file, Beatrice a few paces ahead. "Are you here by choice or draft?"

"You can  _choose_?" Arthur asked, shocked. Who would ever willingly volunteer for such a thing?

"Sure can," she answered, looking back at him as she did so. "Anyone over eighteen, of course. Oh, excuse me—," she'd almost run into another patient passing in the opposite direction. Arthur brushed shoulders with him. "Yeah, I've got leukemia. Stage one right now, but they're afraid it could get worse. My mum was a patient in Eleazar's first program. She had stage three. When she came back home, she was in full remission. Swears by Eleazar, she does! So, last year I filled out the online application and sent it to my MP. Few months later, I got a letter saying I was accepted, and then yesterday two blokes showed up at my door and whisked me away!"

Arthur didn't know whether it was because of the noise of the canteen, or if she was talking too quickly, or if he just didn't believe her, but he had trouble following her words.

_Application. Choice. Full remission._

She was talking as though this were summer camp for the diseased—some kind of asylum for lepers.

"Oh, there he is," she said, nodding in a general direction because her hands were full of her tray. "His name's Eddy. Met him yesterday at orientation."

"There was an  _orientation_?"

"Of course! It was the normal stuff, really," she admitted, "telling us when lights out is, where the doctors' offices are located, to meet here in the canteen if there's a fire—it was rather dull. What, did you sleep through it? I don't blame you!"

Giggling at her own joke, she excused herself and she brushed behind the sitting people. Arthur followed her from across the table. People shot him glares when he didn't excuse himself, too.

Close to the other end, Beatrice stopped next to a young black man with a shaved head. A tattoo of a red rose decorated the left side of his scalp. He stood up in greeting.

"Alright, Beatrice."

"Hi, Eddy. This is Arthur," she told him sweetly as she placed her tray next to his. Arthur did the same across the table. "Hope you don't mind, I told him he could sit with us."

"No, not at all," Eddy told her, and reached across the table to shake Arthur's hand. "Good to meet ya."

"Likewise," Arthur told him politely before they all took their seats.

They sat in silence for a while, picking at their food. It was a real step up from the meal Arthur was given the previous night, but that might have been because he was so hungry. The vegetables tasted fresh, the cheese slices were chilled, and the meats were juicy and sweet.

"So, 'ow are ya finding it, Arthur?" Eddy inquired, making Arthur look up from his tray. His glance shifted from Eddy to Beatrice, both looking at him with pleasant, attentive smiles.

They made Arthur cringe in perplexity, but he quickly corrected himself and said, "I don't know. It's been . . . Not what I expected, actually."

Beatrice sat back and let out a small laugh, and Eddy slumped as though he'd just lost a bet.

"See, I said the same thing, didn't I?" Eddy told him, looking to Beatrice for back up. She nodded at him. "Not what I expected at all!"

As Eddy took another fork-full of food, Arthur swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat.

"You didn't volunteer, too, did you?" he asked.

"Shit, no!" grumbled Eddy with a full mouth. He swallowed. "I was against Eleazar, actually. 'Ated 'em!"

"And you don't now?"

At this, Eddy's face fell, and he looked to the table a little shamefacedly. "Well, I wouldn't say that," he told Arthur, his voice not as exuberant now. As though trying to persuade Arthur, he went on, "It's only day one. I'm still not convinced!"

Beatrice scoffed. "Oh, why can't you just admit you were wrong?"

"Wasn't, was I?"

"Yes, you were! You know it's not bad. You're one of the lucky ones, too. I was already sick with something when I got here—had been for years. At least you get to pick."

Arthur jerked his head back. "You get to  _pick_?" he echoed skeptically, not quite sure he heard right.

"They all got to," Beatrice said with a wave of her hand.

Eddy nodded. "Yeah, yesterday there was a seminar for Non-Predisposed patients. And they gave us pamphlets to look over and everythin'—explaining the different diseases, symptoms, risks, whatever." He shrugged. "And then you fill out an application of what you want and 'and it in in the morning. I got my first inducement session right after lunch."

Arthur tried very hard not to appear shell shocked, but he couldn't help it. It sounded like they were applying for insurance, not a deadly disease.

"That doesn't make sense," Arthur tried to reason. He'd forgotten completely about his food. His stomach churned too much for it, anyway. "If they let everyone choose what to be infected with, wouldn't everyone just pick the one with the lowest risk of death?"

"That's actually a good point. I never thought of that," Beatrice agreed, shifting towards Eddy for an answer.

"Well, last night they said not all the diseases will work for everyone," Eddy explained, nodding his head as though he was sure it was the right answer. "Somethin' about their immune system fightin' it off or somethin'. So they gotta apply for something else if that 'appens."

"What did you pick?" Arthur asked, wanting to get as much information as he could.

"'Eart disease!" Eddy exclaimed like he'd just won a prize. "Can you believe it? People live with that shit every day. It's  _nothin'_! Fingers crossed it takes." And he did. He actually crossed his fingers.

Arthur's mouth hung open, and for a moment all he could do was just stare.

It took some effort, but after some choked, unsure noises, he was able to form words. "You mean to say . . . you're okay with this? Both of you? You actually  _like_  it here?"

Eddy shrugged. "I wouldn't say that. But the place is a lot nicer than my flat at 'ome. And my roommate's a good enough bloke. Got a flatscreen telly on the wall, too!" He played with the remainder of his food idly as he thought aloud, "I dunno, I guess people talk about all these 'orror stories and everythin'. But they weren't even 'ere. Once you get 'ere . . . it's not so bad, is it?"

He looked to Beatrice for support, and she gave it in the form of a soft smile and nod.

Arthur didn't know what to think. He tried to remember everything he'd seen online. He tried to remember everyone that had died as a result of Eleazar, but it was hard to do now.

Woo had killed Merlin the night before. She stood by and watched it happen. They were kidnapped, put in cells like animals for experimentation. Eleazar was ruthless. How could it be the same corporation with a football pitch and smiling patients eating pastries and pies?

It didn't seem like the two belonged on the same world.

"If you don't mind me asking, Arthur," Beatrice said, knocking him back into the moment. She was giving him sympathetic eyes now. "What do you have?"

Arthur didn't understand the question. "I haven't got anything," he said, a little unsurely.

"You must!" said Eddy. "If you didn't know about choosing, you've gotta be a Predisposed. Why else would you be 'ere?"

Arthur had to tell them something, and it couldn't be the truth, lest they start believing Eleazar had graduated to treating mental illness, too. He searched his brain, trying to remember what Scott had said on the first meeting.

"It's Lazarus Syndrome," he said, hoping that was the right name.

It appeared to be, because Beatrice gave a shocked noise and Eddy inhaled sharply and muttered, "Fucking 'ell."

"They must been giving you the special treatment, then!" Beatrice said.

"Special, yes," Arthur answered, trying not to give too much away by sounding bitter. "I'd say so."

"See any bright lights when ya kicked it?" Eddy asked, leaning in with fascination shimmering in his eyes. Beatrice nodded to encourage Arthur, equally as interested.

"Did I—?  _No_. Why would I—?"

"Then, what did you see?" Beatrice wondered. It was a morbid conversation, and he didn't know why they wanted to know these answers. They reminded him of the young squires around the campfire, eagerly listening to the brutal tales of their senior knights. They gawked at the glory of death, at the possibility that the light could some day go out in their eyes, just as it did the eyes of the foes in the tales. They waited with bated breath for the day when they, too, could snuff out a life like blowing out a candle.

But that wasn't death at all. Arthur didn't remember much about it, except that it wasn't as quick as he expected. All the pain from the days before numbed. He couldn't feel anything, from his fingers to his toes. He couldn't see anything, especially bright lights. But he could still hear, for how long after his body shut down he did not know. It felt like forever.

He heard Merlin calling his name: a prayer in the darkness. It echoed through him, long after the sound of the wind rattling in his eardrums died away. His entire world boiled down to Merlin, who raged at the sky in some language Arthur couldn't understand.

It was enough to keep Arthur in the world of the living, but slowly even Merlin's voice faded away. And then there was nothing at all. When he awoke on the lakeside, he felt as though he'd just fallen asleep, prey to a dream he couldn't recall. It felt like no time had passed in the darkness, but it had been more time than he could comprehend. It was disorienting, going from nothing to everything all at once.

Arthur realized Eddy and Beatrice were still staring at him expectantly, and also with curiosity. He must have zoned out, so he blinked himself back into the moment.

"I don't think he wants to talk about it," Beatrice said kindly.

Eddy wasn't so kind. "That's alright. 'Ow did ya almost die, then?"

"Car accident?" Beatrice guessed, unable to help herself. Arthur didn't know whether to be comforted or disappointed that the fascination with death carried through the centuries. Gaius used to tell Arthur that death gave life meaning; but, looking around this place, Arthur couldn't quite tell what it was.

"Um, no," said Arthur, wondering what he should tell them. He decided on a vague truth. "I was stabbed."

"What?" Beatrice asked with large eyes as Eddy simultaneously exclaimed, "That's 'ard as fuck, mate!"

"Was it a robbery?" Beatrice guessed again, like playing a game of twenty questions.

"No—I. I was in a battle."

"A battle?" Eddy wondered. "Like in Iraq?"

"Are you military?" asked Beatrice, looking at him in a whole new light. Arthur didn't know how to respond, so he just stammered. Beatrice must have taken that for a yes because she said, "Oh, my god, why didn't you say?"

Arthur didn't know what to say to that. He didn't mind letting them know he was a soldier. He  _was_ , after all; but he didn't want them prying or asking questions he couldn't answer.

"I, um—"

"He doesn't want to talk about that, either," said Beatrice, misreading his hesitation. "That's fine, then, love. But . . . thank you for your service, yeah?"

Arthur shuffled in his seat and cleared his throat. "Yes."

Figuring it was time for a subject change, Beatrice turned to Eddy. "Have you seen the spa, yet?"

"No way, there's a spa?" Eddy exclaimed.

By the end of lunch, Arthur had learned that Beatrice worked in a call center in South Wales, and Eddy was a civil engineering student from London. Arthur tried not to talk too much about himself, a topic he usually avoided these days. It was a shame.

Sometimes he really wanted to speak of Camelot, to tell people of the dense green forest that surrounded it; to reminisce about the view that stretched on for miles from the citadel's battlements; to tell stories of the villages he'd visited from one end of the kingdom to the other. He wished he could talk about his knights, his friends, his father, Guinevere. He wanted to remember the adventures he'd been on, and the battles he'd commanded.

If he closed his eyes, sometimes he could still feel the weight of his sword in his hand and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He heard battle cries and felt blood and grime on his face. He missed those days, and he felt robbed not being able to reminisce properly. Talking to Merlin about it wasn't very satisfying. He already knew all of Arthur's stories. Hell, he probably knew more about them than Arthur did.

Arthur longed to be back home—to belong somewhere again.

At two o'clock, Arthur left the canteen and made his way back to the main building. Patients were still scattered about the lawn, seemingly having no appointments to go to. Arthur wondered if their schedules were as rigid as his, or if they got more freedoms. It certainly seemed that way, and it wasn't fair. Why should they get comfortable beds and flatscreen tellys while he got a glass box? He had to remind himself that he was different from the rest of the patients. In fact, he was the reason they were all there.

Just before he reached the main building, he heard someone call his name, and looked around to find Dr. Scott hustling towards him.

"How was your lunch?" he asked when he reached Arthur.

"Informative," Arthur told him blatantly. They got to the door of the building and walked through, taking away the warm sunlight that Arthur's skin had gotten used to. The lights of the corridor seemed darker now.

"I didn't see Merlin there," he said pointedly.

"Really?" asked Scott. "Well, that isn't good. Dr. Woo does like to be thorough."

That almost knocked the wind out of Arthur, and he was surprised that he didn't stop walking from shock. " _She's_  got him?" He was suddenly tense. He didn't like the idea of that woman anywhere near Merlin.

Scott only hummed in the affirmative, oblivious to Arthur's concern. "Yes, she assigned herself to him specifically. Don't worry, Arthur, she'll look after him."

The knowledge sat heavy in Arthur's chest. He didn't want Merlin to suffer like he had the night before, and Arthur knew Merlin wouldn't say anything if he did. Woo could do anything she liked to Merlin, and Merlin would remain silent on the matter. Arthur couldn't tell if it was just habit or if Merlin didn't trust him in that way.

He was inclined to think the latter.

"I bet she will," Arthur muttered under his breath. He found himself eyeing every door they passed, wondering if Merlin was behind it and what he was going through.

His mind eventually turned back to the community center, and what Beatrice and Eddy said about their living situations.

"Why do all the other patients get proper rooms?" Arthur asked, trying not to sound too jealous. "A window, at least, would be nice."

Scott scoffed humorously. "A  _window_? You haven't got a window in your room?"

"No, I told you, they put me in a cage."

Scott blinked, seeming genuinely at a loss. He stopped walking and turned to Arthur, and Arthur did the same.

"I thought you were being dramatic," he said severely.

" _Dramatic_?"

"A cage? My god, really?"

"It's more of a glass room," Arthur said timidly, not wanting to worry Scott for a reason he didn't quite understand.

"Well, that isn't right," Scott said, his usual cheery demeanor returning. "It's probably because of who you are. You're special, Arthur."

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"Dr. Woo probably wants to make sure you won't run off first," Scott went on. He placed a supportive hand on Arthur's shoulder, making Arthur glance down at it warily. It was warm, solid, and sturdy. Arthur had to remind himself that Scott wasn't on his side.

"It's only temporary, I assure you," said Scott. "I'll put in a good word to Dr. Woo, tell her how cooperative you've been today. We'll get you that window, Arthur, don't you worry about it."

Arthur blinked directly at him, at a loss for words. It shouldn't have been such a grand gesture—after all, Arthur was asking to not be in jail—but Arthur was touched despite himself.

"Thank you," he said.

Scott gave him one last pat on the shoulder and began walking again, and Arthur followed.

"I'm sure Merlin is cooperating, too," Scott said optimistically. "Dr. Woo will see sense. You're both charming men."

However, Arthur wasn't so sure.  _Merlin_  and  _cooperation_  weren't exactly synonymous.

As though on cue, a few feet down the hallway, a door flung open, and Dr. Woo rushed out. She pressed her back against the wall, breathing loudly and heavily. She didn't seem to notice that anyone else was around.

"Eliza? Dear lord!" Scott called, quickening his pace to get to her. Arthur followed quickly in tow.

As he got closer, he saw Woo's mascara was slightly smudged and her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. She seemed like she was having some sort of panic attack, or she was trying to stop herself from crying.

Arthur couldn't deny the smug sense of satisfaction he felt watching her lose control like that, but he wondered what caused it.

"Eliza, what it is? Are you all right?" Scott asked, placing a tender hand on her shoulder, like he'd done with Arthur.

She immediately swatted him away. "I'm  _fine_! Don't touch me!" she shouted, her misery turning into rage.

"Was it something I said?" someone sarcastically called from inside the room. It sounded like—

" _Merlin_?" Arthur said, his heart skipping a beat in relief. Merlin was alive. Merlin was well. Merlin had apparently made Dr. Woo cry.

He rushed past the doctors and into the room, which was much like the one he'd first been in that morning, where Merlin was sitting on the examination table, kicking his suspended feet out like a child on a high chair. In the corner of the room was Woo's assistant, who was staring at Merlin in utter shock, like Merlin had just kicked his puppy and burned down his childhood home.

When Merlin caught sight of Arthur, he immediately sat up in alert attentiveness. The sly expression on his face dropped. "Arthur, are you all right?" he asked quickly, worry lining his voice.

"I'm fine," Arthur said with confusion as he continued to search the room for anything Merlin might have done. He saw nothing unusual. "What are you—What have you done?"

"Nothing!" Merlin insisted, sounding innocent. He shrugged and wrinkled his nose in apathy. "I was just telling Dr. Woo that her mother's been dead for thirteen years now. Even if she could find a way to bring people back to life, it's too like for dear ol' mum. Imagine the smell." He pulled a disgusted face, like he could smell it already, before gesturing to the man in the corner. "Back me up here, Phillip. You graduated from Harvard Medical School. They must have taught you a thing or two about the decaying process."

The assistant, Phillip, stammered and clutched his tablet close to his chest.

Merlin dropped his hand back to his lap and cocked his head impatiently. "No? Nothing, Lippy? Harvard must be  _giving_  diplomas away these days."

Arthur watched Phillip turn red, and couldn't help but to feel a bit bad for him.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" he demanded, trying to save Phillip from any more harassment.

Just then, Woo and Scott entered the room. Woo was straight backed and carried herself with determination, like she'd put up a wall around herself. But Merlin didn't pay her any mind.

"Oh, hello, Conrad!" he exclaimed, and Scott started slightly in confusion.

"You told him about me?" he asked Woo.

She shook her head.

"How's the wife?" Merlin asked conversationally. "Still showing signs? Or is she quite bad now? It's hard to tell with these things. Hopefully you can find your cure-all before it's too late, like it is for Lizzy's mum."

Scott was gaping as much as Phillip was now, and Woo just looked angry. There was also pain in Scott's eyes, like Merlin had hit a particularly tender nerve. Arthur couldn't bear it. His eyes were usually so kind.

"Will you shut up?" Arthur scolded.

"You have to get into their heads before they get into yours," Merlin told him rigidly.

"I don't care, Merlin. That's enough."

Merlin stared at him for a long time, but Arthur couldn't read his empty expression. But Arthur was frustrated, so he glared back. Why could Merlin never just behave himself?

After a while, Merlin threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine, I'm sorry," he said, not really meaning it. "You know how I get when I'm hungry."

"You haven't let him get lunch?" Scott asked, flabbergasted. All eyes in the room shot to Woo, who bristled. "Honestly, Eliza, he needs to eat."

"I know," she said scornfully. "I lost track of time."

"No, you didn't."

" _Mer_ lin!"

Woo turned to Phillip. "Run to the canteen and get him something to eat." For a second, Phillip didn't move. He just blinked at her like the words didn't process. "Now!" she shouted, making him jump up and bolt out of the room.

"Wait a minute," Arthur said, holding up his palm. "Why can't Merlin go himself? I did."

Woo turned her eyes on Scott. "You let him leave the building?"

Scott held his ground. "Of course, I did. They aren't prisoners, Eliza. They're our patients, who need privacy and space to roam. They're human beings, for god's sake."

"No. They're not  _just_  human beings," Woo spat. She fixed her hard stare on Merlin and Arthur, and it made the hairs on the back of Arthur's head stand on end. He shuffled closer to Merlin, instinctively getting ready to defend if need be.

"They're more than that," Woo continued. "They're our key to Fisher and you know it, Scott."

Scott gave a steadying, complacent exhale. "All right, Eliza," he said soothingly to diffuse the situation. "I think that ought to be enough for today. How about some tea? It's been a stressful day."

"I'll have some chamomile," Merlin quipped, and Arthur shot him dirty look. There was no need to rile Woo back up now that she was calmed down.

"Fine," she conceded, ignoring Merlin's comment. She put her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes like she had a headache. "Call the orderlies. I want these two back in their rooms for the rest of the night."

She rushed out of the room, and Arthur could hear her shoes tapping all the way down the corridor.

Arthur turned his attention to Scott with pleading eyes. He couldn't be sent back to that cell, not now that he had Scott's promise of freedom and Merlin shattered any hope of it.

Scott shot him an apologetic and powerless look before picking up the wall phone and dialing.


	7. Chapter 7

" _Twpsyn! A ydych yn iawn bod dwp?_ "

"English," Merlin reminded Arthur in a passive tone, as he sometimes had to do, especially in the beginning. Arthur didn't feel like obliging him, especially since he was pretty sure the word for  _idiot_  had been engrained in Merlin's head. Still, it wouldn't be an effective way to berate Merlin if he didn't understand what Arthur was saying.

"Why do you have to ruin everything?" Arthur yelled without losing momentum. He was pacing around his room like a lion in a cage. "Why can you never just leave it be?"

Merlin had finally gotten his food. He was sitting cross-legged on his mattress, taking big bites out of an egg salad sandwich. Chunks of the yellow goop fell and splattered back on the plate, causing a mess. Merlin shrugged in disinterest and sucked some mayonnaise off his thumb.

"Sorry," he said, but he really didn't mean it.

It incensed Arthur. He stopped pacing immediately to rest his hands on his hips and glare at Merlin, sizing him up. As always, Merlin remained a closed book. "I don't understand you, Merlin," he finally said with a wave of his hand, giving up. He paced again. "You're the one who said their research had benefits."

"I also said what they're doing is awful," Merlin told him.

"Well, which one is it?" shouted Arthur.

"I don't see why you're defending them!" Merlin shouted back.

"I'm not  _defending_  them!" Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm his frustration. He had to make Merlin understand how important it was to cooperate, and all Arthur would get from shouting was an argument and name calling.

He crossed to his mattress and knelt down on it, making sure he had Merlin's full attention as he said, "Scott told me the only reason we're stuck in these cells is because Woo doesn't trust us. She thinks we'll run."

"Which we will," he answered with his mouth full. Thousands of years hadn't done anything for Merlin's table manners.

"True. But not everyone is kept like this, Merlin. You didn't see what it was like outside this building. I did." He could tell Merlin was really listening now. He'd stopped chewing, swallowed hard, and forgot about the sandwich between his hands. So Arthur continued, "Scott says, as long as we don't cause a fuss, we'll be moved to the dormitories."

Merlin shook his head, getting ahead of himself. "No, Arthur, you can't trust these people."

"I don't," Arthur stressed. "But we have to make them trust us. It will be a hell of a lot easier to escape from out there then it will be from in here. We have to make Woo think we won't run, and when she trusts us not to,  _we run_."

Merlin seemed thoughtful for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth without really seeing. Eventually, he took another chomp out of his food. "It's the start of a plan," he allowed. "And it's not half bad."

Arthur sat back on his ankles, relieved. "Of course it isn't, it's  _mine_."

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"The point is, we're never going to get out of here if you keep reading minds like that," Arthur told him.

Merlin almost laughed. "I can't  _read minds_ , Arthur."

"Whatever you did!" said Arthur, too annoyed to care which magic trick he pulled out of his sleeve. "You need to stop being so . . .  _you_. Do as you're told, for once in your life."

Merlin looked mutinous as he chewed, but he didn't say anything, so Arthur took that as agreement. Satisfied, he shuffled to sit down properly on his mattress.

"What did they do to you today, anyway?"

"Just a routine examination," Merlin answered.

"And  _that's_  what caused you to lose your temper?"

Merlin shrugged again. "I don't like needles."

However, Merlin didn't seem too shocked that the tests hadn't been harmful. Perhaps Arthur had misjudged the meaning of  _invasive_.

"They did the same for me," he said with consideration. "It wasn't so bad, actually."

"It's only the first day," Merlin told him. "We don't know what's to come."

Arthur didn't like how ominous his tone was.

* * *

The next day was as easy as the first, and it started out much better because Arthur got to eat breakfast. It wasn't a very hearty breakfast—consisting of only fruits and oats instead of meats, which Dr. Scott later explained was because they needed a sample of Arthur's blood and for that he had to avoid fatty foods. But it was, at least, breakfast.

And the sample of blood was actually an entire quart, which Arthur watched stream through a transparent tube stuck in his arm and pool into an IV bag hung next to his head. At first it had made him sick to watch it. He didn't necessarily mind the sight of blood. He was quite used to it, in fact. But experience had told him that the prime objective was to keep the stuff inside of you, and watching it pour out in such a steady stream and in such a quantity generally meant death was near. However, Scott assured him that his body could replenish the lost blood without hassle, so Arthur settled in and enjoyed the show.

Watching the dark red life drain from him was a little hypnotizing.

"Why do you need so much?" he asked, looking at Scott from his place on the examination table in the room he was in the previous morning.

Scott was setting small sample tubes on the counter. He looked over his shoulder, more to check up on progress than to look at Arthur. "We need enough of your DNA to work with," he answered simply, turning back around.

"For Fisher?" Arthur asked, remembering what Woo had said the day before. "What  _is_  Fisher?"

"Hmm?" Scott hummed before the question formulated in his mind. He left the counter behind and crossed to the half-full IV bag that the blood was going into. He tapped on it. "It's the reason we're all here. Eleazar's prime objective."

"The formula?" Arthur wondered. Merlin had mentioned a formula.

"Oh, yes," said Scott. "Our cure-all."

"Do you really think there's such a thing? You think you can cure death?"

It seemed a bit far-fetched to Arthur, but then again so did text messaging.

Scott gave a chuckle. "Well, I should hope I'm not wasting my time," he laughed. "I have to believe we can find it. Dr. Wilt certainly believes it's possible."

There was that name again. It had been almost three days, and Arthur still hadn't seen the man's face. He would have very much liked to. He would have very much liked to get close enough to kill him.

He kept that thought to himself.

"When will I get to meet this Dr. Wilt?"

"I should think never," Dr. Scott answered in a preoccupied tone as he worked. "I haven't even met him, and I've been here since nearly the beginning."

Arthur's brows shot up. " _Really_?"

"Very few people have met him," Scott explained, stopping what he was doing in a thoughtful pause. "They say he's a very old gentleman."

"Old and sick."

Scott shook himself back into reality and resumed fiddling with the equipment. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, that's why he wants to heal illness and stop death, isn't it? To save himself," Arthur reasoned. "And that could be why he's never here. He's too sick."

"That very well could be. Or perhaps he wants to help someone he cares for," Scott said with a shrug, as though he'd never really thought about it. Then, he chuckled softly to himself. "I suppose it goes back to the age-old question: if a building were burning down and you could only rescue yourself, a loved one, or a hundred strangers, which would you choose?"

Arthur didn't understand the question. The answer seemed rather obvious, and he found it hard to believe people had asked it for as long as Scott claimed. "Don't be ridiculous. I wouldn't choose," Arthur said loftily. "If I could save a hundred lives, why not two more? I'd save everyone."

He expected Scott to laugh again, but all he did was hum thoughtfully. "Perhaps Dr. Wilt would do the same?" he mused.

Arthur doubted it. A man willing to let innocent people die for his cause would be too selfish to act for anyone but himself.

A few hours later, Arthur was dismissed for lunch, and he thought it a good sign that Scott allowed him to make the trek alone. He stuck to the route they'd taken the previous day, just in case he was being watched. He didn't want to raise any suspicion just yet, but there would be time enough to sneak away from the community center to find an escape route.

The day was overcast and windy, causing less people to be on the lawn and more to be packed into the canteen. Arthur had to take care to avoid elbows as he collected his food, more sparingly than he did yesterday now that he knew it was there to stay.

Finding a table proved to be even more impossible that day, and he found himself half-hoping that Eddy or Beatrice would come to his rescue. He scanned the canteen for either one of them, but he couldn't spot them out of the crowd. He did, however, see an entire stretch of table towards the center of the room that was completely empty. It was as though people were avoiding it like the plague. They didn't even cast it a sidewise glance as they passed by.

There was only one person sitting at the table. Arthur saw the top of his jet-black head as he stared down at his food, twirling his fork around the tray but never bringing it to his lips.

Arthur rolled his eyes and made for the table. When he reached it, he slammed his tray down on the table across from Merlin. Merlin nearly jumped up to the ceiling in fright.

"Don't  _do_  that!" he cried once he'd settled down.

Arthur didn't show his amusement, but he was sure Merlin got the message. "Are you really this antisocial?" he asked as he sat down.

Merlin looked around as though he just noticed he'd formed a desert around himself. "I guess so," he said. "Maybe I have a black cloud hanging over my head."

"Well, you certainly look like it," Arthur teased. "Maybe you should try wiping that ugly look off your face."

"What look?"

Arthur feigned closer study. "My mistake. It's just your face."

"Funny," Merlin said dryly, turning back to his food. All he did was move it from one end of his plate to the other, which worried Arthur. Merlin never lost his appetite.

"I see Dr. Woo let you out today," Arthur said conversationally, secretly trying to lift Merlin's spirits. "That's good."

"I don't think she wanted to," Merlin admitted. "Scott must have said something to convince her."

Arthur smiled warmly at this. "I knew he would."

The smile faded when Merlin glanced up at him through his lashes, intently and neutrally.

"What?" Arthur asked, not liking that look at all. It reminded Arthur of his childhood tutors whenever he would get a question wrong.

"Just because he has a beard doesn't mean he's Father Christmas," Merlin cautioned vaguely.

Arthur pulled an offended face. "What is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

"Remember who he works for."

"I have," Arthur avowed. "I have my eyes on an objective, Merlin. I'm not blinded."

Honestly, to have to convince Merlin of such things . . . Arthur wasn't swayed by Dr. Scott's soft words, just as he wasn't intimated by Woo's hard ones. He just had to pretend to be.

" _Good_ , fine," Merlin said, dropping the conversation, and Arthur was glad for it.

He looked down at his food, remembering the pit in his stomach. He couldn't wait to dig in to the pork and gravy. "I'm starved," he said, cutting into it. "I don't know how they expect me to live on that rabbit food they gave us for breakfast."

"Most people would call it healthy."

Arthur quirked a sarcastic brow. "Merlin. I was once the greatest warrior in all the five kingdoms. I  _cannot_  live off grains."

"Well, now there aren't any five kingdoms, and eating too much of that will only make you fat," said Merlin insensitively.

"Don't start that again," Arthur muttered before chomping down on a bite. It hit the spot almost immediately, so getting fat was worth it. "Now, eat your food before it gets cold."

Merlin managed to shove a few forkfuls of rice into his mouth, but Arthur had a suspicion they were just for show, because he went back to shoveling his food around absentmindedly after a lapse of silence.

"What is wrong with you today?" Arthur laughed. Normally, he couldn't get Merlin to shut up.

"Just tired," was the mumbled answer.

"Well, you should keep a positive attitude, Merlin," Arthur told him. "It wouldn't kill you to smile." When Merlin's expression remained unchanged, and all he did was stare at Arthur, Arthur shook his head and said, "I can't imagine how surly you'd be if you were still on your own. You're lucky you've got me."

The look in Merlin's eyes turned gentle, and he quite shamelessly jumped halfway across the table and crushed his lips into Arthur's. It was chaste, and for some reason it caused a twinge in Arthur's chest, but the sheer force of it almost knocked Arthur backwards. Luckily, Merlin had grabbed on to his shirt to keep him upright.

It occurred to Arthur that he hadn't kissed Merlin in days. He hadn't even been able to touch him.

When Merlin released him, he lingered over the table for a few seconds, keeping eye contact.

"I know," he finally said, and a large, crooked, and toothy grin lit up his features. It made Arthur crack a smile, too, and look away coyly. He was aware of a few onlookers, but he didn't blush as pink as he'd normally do under their eyes.

It was just nice to see Merlin smiling again.

* * *

Arthur caught sight of his reflection in the dark window leading into the next room. Just beyond, he saw the silhouette of Gloria the Lab Tech stalking around the control room, buzzing from one computer monitor to the next. He tried to focus his vision on her to read her expressions whenever the computer light bathed her features, but they remained neutral and professional, giving nothing of mal-intent away.

In fact, it got a bit dull watching her, and his vision automatically shifted back to his reflection. He was sitting on the cushioned slab connected to a giant, cylindrical machine at his back. Dr. Scott, who was teetering around on the opposite end of the machine, had called it an MRI scanner. When he explained what it did, Arthur didn't consider it so bad. After all, he was just required to lie down while the machine did all the work.

However, Arthur felt differently now that he was at the mouth of the beast. The outer rim was large and spacious, but he had peered inside, and the circle of space gradually shrunk. Arthur didn't know if he could stay still in such a confined area for an extended period of time.

He absentmindedly moved to twirl the band on his finger, just to have something to do with his hands, but he was reminded that Scott had made him remove the ring. He felt naked without it, but that could have just been because he was actually naked. The only article of clothing on him was a thin, cotton hospital gown with an opened back. It was all very undignified.

"Okay, Arthur, I think we're just about ready to begin," Scott said at once, popping out from around the machine to stand at Arthur's side. "How are you feeling?"

Nervous. The answer to that question was  _nervous_. Arthur had no idea what to expect. Up until that point, all of Scott's examinations had been, for the most part, familiar to him. This was not. He took a quick look over his shoulder at the mouth of the machine, imagining it as a deep, dark hole that a snake would disappear into the ground, or some kind of broken cocoon. Insects were meant to break out of cocoons, not trap themselves back in it.

He wondered if this machine was common, or if it was just a product of Eleazar. It certainly didn't look like it belonged on planet Earth.

Arthur pushed these doubts down, not wanting to admit he was scared of anything Eleazar had in store for him, and nodded.

"Excellent!" Scott exclaimed, and instructed Arthur to lie down flat on the slab. When he did, Scott helped him arrange his head, neck, and shoulders on the plastic brace that was meant to hold him in place.

"Now, you must remember not to move, Arthur," Scott advised him.

"What happens if I move?"

"It will mess up the x-ray and we'll have to start all over."

Arthur didn't want to spend any more time in that hole than necessary, so he shuffled a little, trying to settle himself into a comfortable position. He felt a sudden, soft weight on his legs and looked down his nose to find Scott folding a blanket on his bare legs and feet. Arthur wondered if Scott was expecting him to fall asleep.

"This should only take about a half hour," Scott told him once he'd finished situating the blanket. He reached into his lab coat's pocket and produced a package of ear buds. "And it's going to be rather loud in there, so you should wear these."

Arthur allowed him to press the squishy buds into each of his ears. Their pressure felt like the headphones he used on his runs.

"Relax, now, Arthur," Scott told him, his words muffled slightly by the obstruction. He placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder and smiled down at him. "I'll be right in the next room with Gloria."

"Okay," Arthur said, probably louder than he'd intended to.

Scott released him and turned towards the window into the next room. He gave Gloria the thumbs up before moving out of Arthur's sight.

There was a sudden mechanical whine and the slab Arthur was on slowly glided backwards. He shifted again to find a better position, getting the lasts of his movements out. His back was already complaining for him to lay on his side, but he ignored it.

The air inside the cocoon was surprisingly cool, not stuffy like he'd expected. Its freshness calmed him, causing the illusion that the small space wasn't so bad after all. He took a deep breath in, inflating his chest, before remembering that he couldn't make big movements. He assumed small breaths were okay, unless he was expected to hold his breath for thirty minutes, in which case Eleazar would be pulling a dead body out of the scanner.

He wondered whether or not that would make much of a difference to them.

A light kicked on, flooding the machine. Arthur couldn't tell if it was white or blue, but its intensity made him wince.

There was another whining sound, somewhat like a car engine starting up, which was quickly replaced by a steady  _thump-thump-thump_. It sounded like someone was banging on the outside of the machine, but Arthur knew that wasn't the case. The banging noise seemed to circle around him.

The ear buds were proving to be useless, so Arthur closed his eyes, trying to block the sound out. He tried thinking of other things, hunting or horseback riding. He even tried to convince himself that he was lying in his own bed, the one in his chambers in the citadel. Warm blankets, furs, and feather pillows surrounded him.

Eventually, the thumping noise infected his daydream. He imagined sharp arrows hitting their splintering marks over and over again. Images of swords beating against wooden shields danced behind his eyes. So, he opened them.

The memories were full of so much longing that it hurt. He became aware that, in his reveries, he'd curled his toes and strained his hands into fists at his sides. Slowly, he relaxed his tense muscles.

At one point, the slab moved slightly to the side, and Arthur tried not to start because of it. The change made the back of his hand brush up against the side of the machine, and he was reminded of how tight the space actually was.

It made him feel a little queasy, and the back of his mind tingled like it was urging Arthur to fold in on himself. He wanted to be as small of possible, but his willpower kept his body stretched out. The air was still chilled, but it no longer smelt fresh to him. Sometimes, he caught himself involuntarily holding his breath, like his lungs refused to let the clinical, claustrophobic air become a part of him.

The thumping didn't even sound like thumping anymore. It spoke to him. He heard his name in it being repeated over and over. At first, the voice it spoke in didn't sound real. It was cold and distant and too hard to make out. It was just an echo on a cave wall. Arthur didn't trust the voice. But it gradually took a familiar shape.

It sounded like Merlin.

But only when he spoke in that foreign, magical tongue that commanded the elements. It was dark and rough and not quite his own. It made Arthur's skin crawl sometimes.

Arthur suddenly realized that Merlin's voice had taken on that tone at all times recently. It lacked the litany he once remembered from Camelot.

The noise slowed, bringing it back to a normal thumping to Arthur's mind. When it stopped completely, the slab slid forwards, releasing him from the cocoon.

Arthur sat up, enjoying the freedom of space, as Scott pushed through the door. Arthur blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust back to the florescent light. Spots burst in front of his vision as he did so.

"See? Not so bad," Scott said, reminding Arthur to take out his ear buds. When he did, he was suddenly hyperaware of all the small sounds around him: the ticking of the clock, the way Scott's shoes squeaked against the tiles, his own breathing.

"I'm glad it's over," Arthur mumbled, causing Scott to chuckle.

"Yes, it's never a fun experience." He turned back to the window and gave Gloria a wave. She nodded in return, and Arthur watched her collect her bag and exit the room. "Uh, she'll go make sure the results are being processed. We should have them for you in a few days," Scott explained. "Why don't you get dressed?"

He disappeared behind the scanner again, and Arthur took that as his cue to get off the slab. He was glad to stretch his legs. The muscles were stiff from being so still. He stood up straighter and stretched his back, making the bones in his spine pop, and rolled the soreness from his neck.

The floor under his bare feet was chilly as he crossed the room to the wall of lockers. He opened the correct one and unfolded the sweatpants, t-shirt, and trainers he'd left in there before.

When he was fully dressed again, he heard Scott say as though he'd just remembered, "Oh! Don't forget this, either." He appeared from the other side of the scanner and pulled out Arthur's ring from his breast pocket. Arthur had entrusted it to him earlier so it wouldn't accidently get lost or left behind.

Scott held the silver ring between his fingers and rolled it with inspection. "It's a very interesting band," he complimented.

"Thank you," Arthur said, clearing his throat a bit awkwardly. "It was my mother's."

Scott took in a sharp inhale, and his eyes flashed from Arthur to the ring like he was holding the Great Star of Africa. "My god, really?" he said in awe. Arthur hadn't seen anyone gawk over jewelry like that.

Well, maybe Morgana, but that was different.

"Fascinating," Scott breathed. Snapping himself out of it with an "oh!" he placed the ring in Arthur's palm. "I'm sorry, Arthur, but that's a piece of history! Here, you take good care of that."

"I will," Arthur said. He glanced down at Scott's hand, and the golden band on his finger glinted in the light. "Merlin said you were married?" he remembered aloud, posing it as a question.

Scott's expression softened into something bittersweet, sad and affectionate but also worried and protective. "Yes," he answered with a fond tone. "For quite some time now. Millie, that's her name."

His tone nearly broke Arthur's heart. It spoke of so many memories, and so many more that could be.

"She's sick?"

Scott nodded. Arthur had never seen him choked up before, but his eyes were sparkling with wetness. "Alzheimer's. It's a disease that deteriorates the mind—causes memory loss and confusion, amongst other things, and eventually death." He gave a forced breath of laughter and a flap of his arms against his sides. "I won't bore you with the details."

Arthur studied his shoes, suddenly understanding Scott. "That's why you do this?" he said, not really asking. "You want to find her a cure?"

"It's a tale as old as time, I suppose," Scott joked, trying to collect himself by lightening the moment.

Arthur fixed him with a sturdy stare directly in the eyes and clapped his hand to Scott's shoulder. "It's very noble of you," he said firmly. "If there was something I could do to help those I love, nothing would be able to stop me."

Scott seemed comforted by this. "Thank you, Arthur," he said with appreciation. "I hold that in the highest regard coming from you."

Arthur nodded and released him.

"Were you ever married?" Scott then asked him.

The question brought Arthur back to the past, to Guinevere. He remembered her kind eyes and rough ebony hands. He thought of her voice, her smile, her elegant poise as she walked side-by-side with him through the castle. The world had less heart now that Guinevere was no longer in it.

Arthur nodded in ways of a response. "Her name was Guinevere," he said. He loved her once, and he missed her still.

"What was she like?"

Arthur's eyes snapped back into focus. He wasn't expecting that question. "You—you want to know about Guinevere?" he asked unsurely.

Scott chuckled like the idea of anything else was absurd. "Of course!" he said happily. "It's not every day one gets to listen to King Arthur talk about Queen Guinevere. I'd be very interested in any stories you have, in fact. Your memories are forgotten pieces of history! To think, if the world remembered it again, knew it as fact . . ."

He seemed to have lost himself in excitement, like Camelot was the Promise Land. With each of his words, Arthur's eyes lit up some more and his grin widened.

"Tell me, Arthur," Scott began, leaning in closer, "was there  _really_  a Round Table?"

Arthur didn't realize it, but he let out a whooping bark of laughter.

He didn't know where to start! There was so much to tell, so much to remember. Finally, there was someone he could speak freely with, someone he could talk to about Camelot.

He felt less homesick already.


	8. Chapter 8

Dr. Scott proved to be an avid listener. Over the next week, he and Arthur spent hours speaking of battles, knights, and life in Camelot. Arthur even sketched out the layout of the citadel one night, when Scott asked him what the throne room looked like and they both got a little carried away from there. Sometimes Scott would forget to examine Arthur, and Arthur would have to stay for a few more hours. He found himself not minding so much.

Arthur got a lot more time alone, too. Like the other patients on the campus, who seemed to have only one or two examinations a day, Arthur spent most of his time in the community center or exploring the base. However, he supposed the reason for his exploration differed from the other patients.

The Eleazar campus, on the inside, seemed innocent. The faux liberties given to the patients made them forget they were surrounded on all sides by a tall fence and CCTV cameras. Beyond the fence in every direction was wasteland: hills and tors, woods, and marshland. Arthur didn't even know what part of the country they were in, and it appeared none of the other patients did, either. They didn't seem to worry too much about it, which left Arthur confused. Perhaps they didn't ask too many questions because they didn't have to go back to a glass cell every night.

Arthur supposed the illusion of freedom was better than knowing you had no real freedoms at all.

He walked along the western fence (which he knew because the sun was on his other side), far away from the epicenter of the campus. There weren't many buildings in this part, just one or two he assumed were for storage and maintenance. He looked over his shoulder, where the noises from the community center were muffled, even when carried on the chilled wind, and the dormitories were nothing but looming shadows against the gray day.

The gap in activity in that area might provide a good place to escape. It didn't look like there were any gates around (he'd already "jogged" by the north and east gates, and they were protected by security checkpoints), and fewer buildings meant fewer cameras.

A small hole beneath the wired fence caught his attention, and he knelt down next to it. It was hardly there, probably made by a rabbit or something, but with a little digging . . .

He searched around, wondering if there was a rock large enough to hide a hole in the ground.

That's when he saw a car driving down the dirt road about half a kilometer away. It was driving south, in the same direction Arthur had been walking.

Arthur's fingers clutched the wires he was holding on to and he tried to stay as still as possible so the driver wouldn't see him. No one ever said he couldn't be this far away from the community center, but it was better to be safe rather than sorry.

The car passed by without even slowing down, and eventually it disappeared over a hill. Arthur wondered where it was headed. Careful to stick close to the fence, he continued south.

Once he got to the top of the hill, he spotted another bustling part of the campus in the near distance. However, this part of Eleazar didn't bother with pretence. Another high fence separated the two parts, this one with barbed wire circling the top. The only other barrier he could see, which ran along the same line as the western fence, was a solid brick wall. Uniformed men and woman with stun guns patrolled the south gate, keeping in everyone housed beyond it.

The buildings were meaner, too: less like a makeshift hospital and more industrial.

It looked like a prison. It  _was_  a prison. Arthur was sure of it; he'd seen plenty of them in films.

He thought back to people like Eddy: those who had been taken from their lives even though they were against Eleazar. Surely, not all of them could have been swayed by the staff's kind words or brainwashed by the kitchen's tasty buffets. Some of them had to be putting up a fight. However, Arthur never saw them trying to convince others.

He thought of the old men in Camelot's lower town with their bibles. He thought of Bonkers Bobby.

There was none of the sort in Eleazar.

But there  _had_  to be! Arthur had seen the protests going on outside Parliament.

Perhaps that's where all the troublesome patients ended up: in the prison on the south gate. Arthur wondered why he and Merlin weren't in there, too.

He had to get back to the community center. He had to find Merlin and tell him about this. Merlin was rarely at lunch, and Arthur almost never saw him in the canteen or the field. When he asked Merlin where he was instead, Merlin would usually reply that Woo kept him. However, sometimes he would tell Arthur that he was, in fact, in the canteen, and he hadn't seen Arthur there either, so "maybe I should be asking you the same question."

"Maybe you should start looking with your eyes instead of your nose," Arthur would reply on those nights, and he tried to ignore the sick, uneasy feeling in his stomach that the sound of Merlin's voice gave him.

Hoping that Merlin would be there, Arthur doubled back and headed towards the field. He searched everywhere—the canteen, the recreation room, the lounge—but Merlin was nowhere to be found.

He went outside again, scanning the field in case Arthur had missed Merlin there. Nothing.

"Yoo-hoo! Arthur!" a familiar voice shouted. Arthur turned his head in its direction to find Beatrice sitting cross-legged on the grass near the football pitch. She had her arm stretched up high as she exuberantly waved him over.

Arthur had seen her from time to time over the last week. He saw Eddy in passing only once, but both of them had taken to calling him "mate." It was . . . nice, actually.

He gave the field another once over before giving up and heading towards Beatrice. She had a wicker basket on her side, full of colorful yarns and crocheting needles. Between her hands, she was knitting what looked like a scarf, and the excess fell down in bunches on her lap.

Arthur sat next to her on the damp grass, trying not to think about the shock of cold or the seeping wet sensation now on his bum.

"You ever gonna play a match yourself?" Beatrice asked, nodding towards the pitiful game going on before them. A group of people, one team with their sweatshirts on and the other team with only their t-shirts, ran around kicking a discolored ball. "I bet you'd be excellent."

Arthur shook his head, watching the match. "I've never played. I don't even know the rules."

Apparently, that was amusing, because Beatrice giggled. "Stop it, you!" she said, like she didn't believe him. Arthur didn't press the matter.

"Did you know there was a prison part of this campus?" he asked, and he wished Beatrice would stop fumbling with her needles. This was serious.

"'Course, I did, yeah," she said in her lyrical voice.

Arthur's brows darted up. "Really?"

"Yes! You don't expect those living at her Majesty's pleasure to mix with us, do you? They're bound to get violent!"

Arthur had been counting on them being violent. It was the main ingredient to a successful revolt. However, he blinked, trying to sort out what she'd just said. "You mean . . . they were in prison  _before_  they got here?"

She laughed again, loudly enough for it to echo this time, and dropped her knitting to her lap. "Of course, you silly man! What, did you think the doctors were sending patients to jail? Prisoners volunteer for the program. It knocks time off their sentences."

"Oh," Arthur said lamely. He looked down at his lap, wondering if prisoners really were the only inmates on that side of Eleazar.

Beatrice teased, "You say the oddest things sometimes, you know?" She twisted towards the basket and plopped the scarf she was working on into it. "Now, c'mon, I'll make you a scarf. I'm needing the practice. What colors do you want?"

He decided to drop the subject of the prisoners. Perhaps Beatrice was right. Perhaps he was just looking for the worst.

"Have you got red and gold?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"Ah, you're a Gryffindor, aren't you?" she laughed, pushing at his shoulder playfully. "I knew you would be."

And she accused  _him_  of saying strange things.

* * *

Arthur sat in the examination room, kicking his feet out to pass the time as he waited for Scott to come in. He puffed his cheeks out at the clock on the wall, which turned from  _20:12_  to _20:13_. It was after dinnertime, and Arthur was beginning to get sleepy from a comfortably full stomach, but he supposed being in the examination room was better than being in his cell.

He wondered when Woo would change her mind and move them to the dormitories with everyone else. Scott continued giving her reviews of how cooperative Arthur was being, but it seemed Merlin was only making a nuisance of himself. Scott said he was fighting Woo at every turn, and at least once a day the fire alarm would blare throughout the building. People had learned to ignore it.

Arthur told Merlin off almost every night about it, reminding him of what they were trying to achieve, but Merlin only rolled his eyes.

Footsteps were approaching from the corridor. They were accompanied by hushed voices. Arthur couldn't hear what they were discussing, but the rhythm of the tones suggested one was male and the other was female. The woman sounded angry. As they neared, her words became clearer.

". . . almost  _two years_ , Scott. And his mobile is still disconnected. Where the hell is he?"

Arthur recognized it as Woo's voice. She and Scott had stopped right outside the door.

"You're asking the wrong man, Eliza," came Scott's voice, muffled by the door. Arthur stilled himself and sat up straight. He stopped kicking. He stopped breathing. He only listened. "Have James and Henry gotten back from the address on file?"

"They got in last night," said Woo. It was followed by something else Arthur couldn't make out.

He didn't want to risk missing another word. As silently as he could, he jumped down from the table and tiptoed to the door. He placed his ear against the crack and held the flat of his hands to the wall for support.

"Nothing was there. It was an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere," Woo went on, her voice clearer now. "I swear, if this is just some sick joke and he's trying to get back at me—"

Scott gave a small laugh. "Calm down, Eliza. They must have gotten it wrong. He wouldn't have put down a fake address," he said. Woo must have responded nonverbally, because there was a pause before Scott said, "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation to his whereabouts. Perhaps he's abroad in dealings with WHO."

"Without authorization?" Woo scoffed. "The committee would know about that.  _I_  would know!"

"Well, there must be some way of getting to him," Scott answered patiently. "Some _one_  who knows where he's been. You know him better than I."

"He never mentioned anyone," Woo said in frustration.

" _Never_?"

"No! He was private. I respected him for it." She gave an aggravated noise. "We need him, Scott. We are  _so_  close to unlocking Fisher, and he knows the formula better than me—better than anyone! If anyone can figure out how to make their DNA work, it's Wilt."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the name, like doing so would stifle puzzlement. Dr. Wilt wasn't "indisposed," as Woo had said. He was  _missing_. Arthur wondered if he wanted to be found.

"We've been doing just fine without him these last months," Scott reminded her.

"Not good enough," she answered curtly. Arthur could almost picture her folding her arms and tapping the toes of her shoes in annoyance. If he strained his ears, he thought he could hear them clicking against the tile. "I want him found, Scott. We're finding him. And don't you dare breathe a word of this to anyone, do you understand?"

Now Arthur didn't have to listen hard to hear her clacking heels. The conversation was over, and Arthur felt his stomach flutter. Quickly, he raced back to the table and hopped onto it. He tried to act natural. He ended up looking up at the ceiling like it was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. His heart was pumping in his ears and he started kicking again.

The door opened, and Dr. Scott came through. Arthur turned to him like he'd only just realized his presence. He gave a, hopefully, convincing smile.

Scott didn't seem to notice anything off color. He was carrying his usual tablet against his chest, but there was something clenched in his fist. Arthur caught onto it immediately, and he wondered what it was.

Scott's smile was different, too. It was tighter, and more professional. Arthur didn't like it. He stopped kicking his legs again.

"Hello again, Arthur," Scott told him. "How are you feeling?" He asked it as though he really wanted an answer.

Arthur shrugged a little anxiously. "Fine. Why do you ask?"

Scott must have heard the uneasiness in Arthur's tone, because he got right to the point. He unclenched his hand and held up a small vial containing yellow liquid. Arthur squinted at it, more confused than ever.

"I'd like you to meet the reason we're all here. This, Arthur, is Fisher," Scott told him.

Arthur had to admit, it wasn't very impressive for something that had caused so much suffering. It sort of looked like piss.

"I'd like to start giving it to you," Scott finished when Arthur didn't answer.

Arthur jerked his head back, wondering if he'd just heard Scott correctly. "What?" he asked, his stomach doing a flop. He didn't want that thing anywhere near him, let alone in his body. "But I'm not ill."

Scott didn't say anything. He dropped his shoulders in a sigh. He turned away and put the vial on the counter, and reached for a plastic wrapped syringe to place next to it. Next, he pulled up the aluminum chair in front of Arthur and sat in it. He held his tablet on his crossed legs and leaned in closer, like he wanted to have a serious, intimate discussion.

"I have here the results of your MRI, Arthur," he said, barely indicating the tablet. "There were certain abnormalities in your brain functions, namely in your brainstem." He reached around and touched the base of his head as though to demonstrate. "That's the part of your brain that controls your vitals, such as heartbeat, breathing, even consciousness."

Arthur looked at the tablet on Scott's lap as though he could see the results in its hardware. He didn't know what abnormalities Scott was talking about. He felt fine, like he always had. He was fighting fit. And yet, Scott's words unnerved him. He tried to think back to a time he felt less than himself.

"On the scan, your brainstem lit up with the most unusual activity. It's something I've never seen before, and frankly I'm not sure anyone else has, either. It's the reason your pulse rate was so high when I tested it that first day, you remember?" Scott explained.

"Is that bad?" Arthur worried. "Am I sick?"

"Quite the opposite, I think," Scott said. "Whatever's caused it might just be the reason you're back with us."

"Then why give me the formula?" Arthur asked, shaking his head in confusion.

"Because that part of your brain isn't supposed to be working at such high levels. It's a little troubling, and it could put a strain on your body over time. Tell me, Arthur, have you noticed any changes in yourself? Are you short of breath when you weren't before, for example?"

Arthur considered the question. Maybe he was just paranoid by the diagnosis, but he remembered the stitch in his side when he was chasing after that girl in the cemetery. He'd gotten those before on his runs, and they'd make him have to stop for a rest. That never used to happen.

"Yes," he answered, sounding unsure. "Perhaps."

Scott hummed and nodded sympathetically. Arthur suddenly felt like he was on his deathbed.

"And how are you sleeping since you've come back?" Scott asked.

"Lightly," was the immediate answer. "Not well."

"I see. Any differences in your diet?"

Arthur gave an overwrought laugh. "Apart from there being more types of food in this century than I know what to do with—?"

"No, I'm talking about appetite," Scott clarified. "Are you eating more, less?"

Arthur shrugged. "I don't know."

Scott hummed again, this time more thoughtfully. He scanned Arthur up and down. "You said Merlin is your GP?" he asked, taking off his glasses and wiping the smudges off with his white coat.

Arthur didn't really understand the question, but Merlin was the only physician that had ever seen to him, apart from Gaius, but Arthur didn't assume Scott was interested in that.

"He looked after me when I came back," said Arthur.

Scott twirled the leg of his glasses between his fingers. "And did he give you anything? Medication? Injections?"

There were a few injections over a period of weeks after Arthur's return. Merlin had told him they were vaccines that all the people of this century received to ward off certain diseases before even making contact with them. He'd explained them all to Arthur. Merlin wouldn't have given Arthur anything that harmed him.

"No," he lied.

Scott didn't seem to buy it. His lips thinned into a line and he fixed Arthur with a stern glare. "Arthur," he said kindly, breaking eye contact to slip his glasses back on to his ears. "I understand your concerns, but you have to start trusting me. I'm your doctor now. I'm trying to help you. I'm trying to help the human race."

His expression was genuine. Scott really cared about helping people; Arthur knew it.

"That begins with you," Scott carried on. "Allow me to do what I can for you."

Arthur considered his words. He didn't believe them, but he believed that Scott believed them, which was somehow reassuring.

"I don't know," he thought aloud. "If you say this—," he gestured his hand vaguely towards the back on his neck, "is the reason I'm alive again, why do you want to stop it? Won't that kill me?"

"No, no," Scott assured him. "I don't think it's the reason you're alive. I think it's a  _result_  of the reason you're alive, whatever that may be. And I believe it will also eventually wear you down. I want to regulate it—get your nerve activities back to the way they're supposed to be. That's how Fisher's works. It's intended to normalize all the body's systems, you understand?"

Arthur wasn't sure he did, but it sounded better than dying, at least.

"And I'll be monitoring your vitals," Scott told him. "If I see any drastic changes, I'll stop administering the formula. This may even help us isolate what brought you back to life in the first place. You're in good hands, I assure you." He smiled tightly but reassuringly.

But Arthur still wasn't sure. "I ought to talk to Merlin first," he decided.

"Of course, but he'll advise against it," said Scott, folding his hands over the tablet on his lap. "He's been very problematic. All doctors make the worst patients." He chuckled like he'd just told an inside joke that the whole medical community would appreciate, but Arthur was an outsider that didn't understand the punch line. "He doesn't hold any faith in us, nor do I think he wants to. I like to think our relationship is more trusting than his and Dr. Woo's, wouldn't you, Arthur?"

Arthur nodded. He needed an ally other than Merlin; perhaps Scott would prove to be such a man.

"His acting out won't get you any liberties, so I encourage you not to follow his example."

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Merlin never does as he's told," he joked dryly, and Scott laughed softly at it. It put Arthur at ease.

"I'm beginning to see that."

Scott stood up from his chair and headed towards the counter, where he'd put the syringe and the vial of Fisher. He snapped on a pair of gloves and tore the needle out of its wrapping. Arthur looked on as Scott punctured the needle through the vial's stopper and drew out some of the liquid.

He turned around, holding the syringe up to Arthur with hopeful eyes.

"Do I have your consent to begin administration?" he asked.

Arthur had the strangest sensation that his consent didn't matter in the least bit. These were still the same people who took civilians from their homes and forced illness and death upon them. They didn't ask for consent to give the diseases, but they wanted permission to give the cure? None of the patients really had much of a choice in any of this.

And yet, it didn't feel that way. It felt like Scott was really, properly asking. On some level Arthur knew it was a bad idea to give permission, like agreeing would be signing away his life. But Scott wasn't like Dr. Woo. He was a good man, and he was working for Eleazar for honorable reasons. Scott didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all Arthur. And perhaps Arthur was even beginning to trust him, like he had Gaius.

So he nodded.

Scott looked very pleased indeed as he filled the space between them and rolled back Arthur's shirt sleeve. He stuck the needle into Arthur's bicep, causing a pinch of pain, and pushed down on the stopper. Arthur watched the yellow liquid drain into his veins.

"There we are," Scott said as he poked the needle out of Arthur's flesh. "We'll get you right in no time."

Arthur felt a hollow twinge in his gut. He also imagined he could feel the serum coursing through his body like riders on horseback, preparing to attack the base of his skull.

* * *

Not an hour later, Arthur was back on his mattress in his room with his nose in a book. He'd gotten it from the library on the campus a few days previous. It was a fiction about a mad doctor on an island who cut into animals to make them like people. The novel's protagonist had just escaped into the jungle to get away from loud squeals of a hog the doctor was working on. That was when Merlin's cell door opened, and Arthur looked up to find Merlin slump into the room. The door was quickly closed and locked behind him.

Merlin was shuffling his feet and his posture was limp at he crossed the room. He looked like a zombie in a movie. Arthur immediately closed his book and sat up in alert.

"Are you all right?" he worried.

Merlin nodded and sniffed. "Yeah. Just tired."

When he got to his mattress, he slipped out of his shoes and fell right into bed. It was enough to tell Arthur that Merlin was not actually all right.

"Merlin, what's she done to you?"

Arthur was concerned that Woo had tried to kill Merlin again, like she'd done on the first night. Merlin pulled his covers up to tuck them under his chin like he was freezing. The air in room was kept quite comfortable.

" _Merlin_?"

"I'm fine!" Merlin snapped. "Would someone just turn these fucking lights off?" He'd shouted it like he expected someone other than Arthur to hear it, but the florescent lights continued to buzz. They weren't to be shut off for at least another two hours.

And yet, Merlin acted like he was ready to sleep now. He kept his back to Arthur, and Arthur watched the hard line of his side. He wished there wasn't a barrier of glass between them, and that he could touch Merlin. Maybe that would comfort him enough to say what happened.

Suddenly, Merlin rolled onto his back and propped himself up on the elbows to look at Arthur. "I'm sorry," he said. His eyes were a little bloodshot. "I'm just tired, honestly."

Arthur tried to accept that Merlin didn't want to talk about it, no matter how much it frustrated him. He also wanted to talk about Wilt. Mostly, he wanted to talk about the formula that was now running laps in his bloodstream. Merlin had a right to know that Arthur was now receiving Fisher, but for some reason Arthur stopped himself from telling him. It wasn't because Merlin looked too exhausted to talk about even the weather, let alone medical treatment; but Arthur reasoned that, if Merlin wasn't going to talk about what they were doing to him, neither would he.

"Whatever you say," Arthur said blandly. He fell back onto his bed, picked up the book again, and resumed reading. He ignored the creeping sensation of being watched as Merlin remained still.

Eventually, Merlin turned away again, and he was fast asleep within minutes—or perhaps he was just pretending to be. Arthur couldn't tell anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

When it really came down to it, a spoon was just a mini-shovel.

That's what Arthur had originally thought when he managed to hide a spoon under his shirt and sneak it out of the canteen one afternoon. However, that was two weeks ago, and the mild September days turned into an early-October chill. The dirt on the ground became harder and more difficult to sift through. But, if Arthur was one thing, he was tenacious.

There was no way to get into the prison from inside Eleazar. The south gate was too heavily guarded. But he had to get inside. He had to know if protestors were being kept amongst the inmates. They must have been as eager to take Eleazar down as he was.

Only, he had no way of getting to them. Getting off the base would give him a better vantage point on how to slip into the prison, and walking through the monitored gates wasn't an option.

The hole beneath the western fence was almost big enough for him to fit through. He worked on it carefully over the last few weeks, ensuring that he didn't stay missing for too long. He kept his trips sporadic and without pattern, and he only dug for fifteen minutes each time—sometimes less. The process was dreadfully slow.

It would have gone quicker if he had Merlin's help. He'd mentioned his plan one day in hushed tones, keeping it hypothetical, but Merlin seemed less than thrilled about it.

"I don't see you coming up with a plan. If you have one,  _please_ , I'm all ears," Arthur complained, a little offended.

"I'm working on it," Merlin replied vaguely. Arthur really wished Merlin would go into detail, but they so rarely got the chance to speak anymore. Many nights, Merlin would get back after Arthur had fallen asleep, claiming Woo had kept him. Arthur was inclined to believe him because of Merlin's exhausted disposition most mornings, in which he would wince into every movement.

He never told Arthur what was paining him, and he never spoke of his escape plan. Until then, Arthur would find a way into the prison, as strange as that may have been. People usually wanted to break out of jail, not into it.

Arthur scattered the loose dirt across the grass with his hand and rolled the rock he'd placed next to the fence into the hole. It wobbled when he tried to set it into place, and he realized soon enough he'd have to find a bigger one—or more rocks. He wasn't sure if multiple would be too noticeable.

After wiping his palm on his sweatpants and tucking the spoon into his pocket, he stood up. Something spiked in the back of his head, making him rub at his neck and roll his shoulders. A tension headache was blooming upwards from his sore muscles.

Checking to make sure no one was watching him, he about-faced and headed towards the community center. He put his hands in his pockets and ducked his head every time he passed a building with a CCTV monitoring the area. His escape route was in their blind spot (or so he prayed every day), but some of the cameras were too close for comfort and he didn't want them seeing his face.

A flatbed lorry was driving down the dirt path en route to one of the outer buildings. Arthur had seen it a few times, and wondered what it was carrying. It's back was always closed off, and it drove into a garage door in one of the buildings instead of unloading its cargo outside. With no windows in the building for Arthur to peer into, he was left with his imagination. He was beginning to think that particular building wasn't for storage or maintenance at all.

It was after lunch by the time he reached the field, so he kept on walking towards the main building. He had an appointment with Scott for his daily injection.

* * *

That evening, Arthur stood underneath the shower in the communal toilets. They were referred to as communal, but normal patients never came to the main building, so he was the only one present. The room consisted of two toilet stalls, two sinks, and two showers. Scott told him the showers had been installed for two reasons: one was for emergencies, if chemicals were spilled and one sought reassurance beyond the initial laboratory showers; and the other was for when employees would work late into the night in the office, sometimes for days at a time, instead of returning to the staff's temporary living quarters near the north gate.

Arthur didn't ask too many questions about it. He was just glad there was a shower he could use at his leisure.

He turned the water hotter and let it run onto the tension in his neck and shoulders. His headache hadn't subsided. The steam rose up from the tiles around the drain and made his cheeks turn rosy. It actually made him a little lightheaded.

He felt his right hand go numb and leveled it for inspection. It was trembling beyond Arthur's control. He furrowed his brows curiously at it and shook his hand out. It stopped quaking, and he realized he really should turn the water temperature down before he passed out.

Before he got the chance, the bathroom door whined as it opened, and Arthur jerked his attention towards the shower curtain as though he could see through it, wondering who had entered.

Everything remained quiet.

Just as he convinced himself that he'd imagined the door opening, the shower curtain was ripped halfway across the pole, and someone jumped inside with him.

" _Mer_ lin!" Arthur shouted in agitation.

Merlin was still fully dressed. He stood just out of the reach of the showerhead, so the sprays bouncing off Arthur and the walls were the only things that spotted his clothes. He leaned his back against the tiled wall and rested his head there, too, closing his eyes and seeming to catch his breath.

"Shh," he whispered. Arthur barely heard him over the water. "I just needed a break."

Arthur noticed how exhausted Merlin looked. "A break from what?" he demanded.

Merlin only hushed him again.

Arthur heard the door open once more, and the familiar tapping of heels echoed through the room.

"Who's in there?" Woo's voice demanded.

Arthur gave Merlin an annoyed glare, realizing he'd run away from Woo; but Merlin silently pleaded for Arthur not to give away his hiding spot.

Arthur stuck his head out of the curtain. Acting like he had no idea what was going on, he said in an agitated tone, "Me?"

Woo blinked at him, seeming taken aback. "Oh," she said. "Have you seen Merlin?"

He shook his head. "Isn't he supposed to be with you?" It wasn't too difficult for Arthur to pretend to be aggravated with Woo. He hated her.

Woo narrowed her eyes, like she was trying to see into Arthur's brain, and Arthur kept his expression fixed.

"Fine," she said, placated. "Goodnight, Arthur." She turned away and exited the room. Arthur waited a few second to make sure she wasn't coming back before he straightened out and fixed the shower curtain.

Merlin was still resting against the wall, taking deep breaths. He looked pale, and dark circles were rimming his eyes.

"What has she done to you, Merlin?" Arthur asked, more worried than demanding now.

Merlin shook his head. "Nothing. I'm fine," he lied. "I just needed to relax."

Arthur decided getting Merlin to tell the truth wasn't worth the argument just then. "So, you interrupt my bath?" he said instead.

Merlin hummed out a teasing laugh and opened his eyes. "I knew she wouldn't pull back the curtain."

Arthur shook his head and smirked. "You're lucky she didn't. Acting out like this is never going to get us to the dormitories." A thought occurred to him: "She'll notice you're wet when you go back."

"What?" Merlin asked, confused. He realized when he looked down at himself. "Oh. I'll dry myself when I get out."

He picked himself up from the wall, and Arthur thought he might leave, but instead he encroached closer into the stream. His sweatpants turned a darker shade of gray and his white shirt became nearly transparent as it clung to his skin.

He smiled in some memory and lazily scanned Arthur up and down. He reached for the bar of soap behind Arthur and began stroking it across Arthur's bare shoulders. It caused suds to spill down Arthur's back and chest.

"What are you doing?" Arthur wondered, even though it felt good to have Merlin's fingertips brushing against him.

"I used to wash you, didn't I?" Merlin said, like he didn't quite remember. Arthur thought back to the tin tub in his chambers that Merlin would roll out every day. He always made the water either boiling or too cold.

"You weren't very good at it," Arthur snipped.

Merlin didn't seem to hear him. He picked up the shampoo bottle and squirted some into his palms. He lathered it into Arthur's hair, and it smelled like lilacs mixed with fruit. Arthur watched the concentrated look on Merlin's face as he massaged it into his scalp. It was making his headache disappear.

Merlin started smoothing Arthur's hair up, molding it with his palms into a Mohawk. He chortled at it happily when he was finished, and the laughter was infectious.

"That's a good look for you," Merlin lowered his hands and joked.

Arthur grinned and shook his head wildly until the hairstyle flattened back out. It caused globs of soap to fly onto the curtain and walls—and onto Merlin, but Merlin didn't seem to mind it very much.

He pecked a quick kiss to Arthur's lips, which turned into several pecks, which turned into Arthur crowding Merlin against the wall with their bodies slammed together. Arthur ran his hands up and under Merlin's shirt, which was weighed and soaked, and he wished the fabric between them was gone. It wasn't very fair that he was exposed and Merlin was still dressed.

The water raining down was almost sizzling to Arthur's skin now. It seeped through their lips and into their mouths.

Arthur was quickly hardening against Merlin's waist, and Merlin took advantage of that by fitting his leg between Arthur's thighs and rubbing up and down. Arthur nearly slipped on the wet tiles as his knees faltered. He had a moment of panic and pressed his palms on the wall on either side of Merlin's head; but his palms were slippery, too, and they squeaked along the porcelain to unbalance Arthur. He lost his footing and stumbled into the shower control knobs, and the spiking pain caused him to swear.

Merlin laughed all the while like it was a circus act.

"This is unsafe," Arthur complained, rubbing the sore spot on his side and swearing off shower sex for good. It always gave him bruises.

"Yeah, it is," Merlin agreed lightheartedly, and Arthur would like to see how he'd feel after being injured. Merlin's face fell and he extracted himself from the wall again. "I should be getting back anyway," he said dreadfully.

Arthur pouted. "You're sure you don't want to keep washing me?"

"I think I'd rather torture."

Arthur's expression changed in a blink. A look of horror and concern passed over him, and Merlin seemed to have realized what he said, because he corrected with a blithe, "I'm being dramatic."

"Then be un-dramatic," Arthur commanded. He searched Merlin for any signs of harm, but it was so hard to tell with those damn clothes on.

"It's a joke, Arthur. She knows I could stop her from doing anything I don't want her to with my magic," Merlin assured him, but it was still too vague for Arthur's liking.

"Merlin—"

"Hey," Merlin interrupted, stepping in close again. "Don't worry so much. That's my job, remember?"

"Then what's my job?"

It was preposterous that Merlin thought Arthur wasn't allowed to worry about him.

"Same as it's always been: to look handsome while I do all the work," Merlin said, punctuating it by brushing Arthur's wet fringe out of his eyes.

"You don't do all the work," Arthur defended matter-of-factly.

"Yes, I do."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is."

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Get out!"

Merlin pouted his lips to the side, trying to look unamused. Then, he disappeared to the other side of the curtain. By the time Arthur peered out of it, Merlin was miraculously dry.

"Merlin?" Arthur called, trying not to sound too concerned. "Don't do anything stupid."

" _Never_ ," Merlin answered sarcastically and tossed a grin over his shoulder.

Arthur watched him open the bathroom door a few inches, check up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around, and sneak out of the room. When the door had swung fully closed, Arthur stood back under the water and readjusted the curtain again.

He could still feel Merlin's hands ghosting over his skin, nails digging into his back and fingers combing his hair. The stream of water was stifling. Arthur whole body tingled and his heart raced his chest. If he closed his eyes, Merlin's body was still pressed against his. Arthur let out a breath from deep within his lungs, and he swiftly turned the shower temperature to cold.

* * *

Lunchtime was Dr. Scott's favorite part of the day. He and Arthur would usually walk to the canteen together after their morning sessions, sometimes in contented silence and sometimes telling each other stories of who they were outside Eleazar. Arthur learned that Scott had two brothers, one who lived in France and the other of which lived in Islington; and that he attended medical school at Cambridge "when dinosaurs still walked the earth," which must have been a joke. He didn't have any children of his own, but he was very close to his wife's niece. He would tell Arthur about her sometimes, speaking of her with pride.

Scott would also talk about his wife from time to time, mostly reminiscing about when they were young and she was healthy. Those stories would come in solemn times, after Scott had gotten off the phone with her and she didn't remember who he was.

However, that afternoon, Scott was in good spirits. He had his lunchtime spring in his step as he led Arthur down a corridor in a part of the building Arthur had never been in before. Scott told him it was where the offices were, and they could go to the canteen as soon as Scott dropped off his tablet and picked up his coat in his office.

This area of the building looked the same as the others: white walls, buzzing overhead lights, CCTV cameras on the ceiling, uniform doors. However, most of these doors were open, inviting others in, and had name plaques on them. As they walked by, Arthur peaked in to some of the rooms and saw doctors at their desks. Scott would sometimes give them friendly hellos. Every now and again, a phone would ring softly from down the corridor.

There was one door that was different than the rest. It was painted a deep red and it was shut tight. Arthur didn't have to wiggle the handle to know it was locked. It simply gave off that  _keep out_  air.

Arthur didn't know why, but he'd stopped in front of the door. He tried to imagine what was beyond it, and saw in his mind's eye dusty bookshelves and a rich mahogany desk with a leather chair behind it. There were hardwood floors that were expertly polished, and the soles of one's shoes would echo with every step. It was probably an image he'd see in a movie at some point, but he couldn't shake it from his head. The door was much too red to guard anything else.

"Arthur?" said Scott's voice. It found its way into Arthur's subconscious and roused him from his daydream. When Arthur looked up, Scott was already halfway down the hall, but he was returning to Arthur's side.

"That's Dr. Wilt's office," Scott explained. Arthur had guessed that already.

"Is he in there?" Arthur wondered. He eyed the door with distrust.

"No, no—never," Scott told him. "Unless he's been sneaking into it when no one's been looking." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Has anyone else gone inside?" Arthur wondered. There had to have been something in there that gave away Wilt's whereabouts. Woo would want it just as much as Arthur.

Arthur had a morbid thought that Wilt was, in fact, inside, only he was dead and his rotting corpse had been sitting at his desk without anyone knowing. Arthur even went as far as to take a deep sniff, but he didn't smell anything, unless the door was sealing it in.

"No one has access. Not even Dr. Woo," said Scott with a shrug. "Now, let's get going. I'm sure you must be hungry."

Scott continued down the corridor, and Arthur cast another look at the door, like he'd hoped it would miraculously open, before following after him. He wondered how many staff members had walked by that door each day without giving it a second glance. Perhaps they'd even forgotten it was there.

Arthur waited in the hall as Scott put down his things and collected his coat in the cluttered office. He wondered how Scott found anything on his desk, or if it was an organized mess.

"I'll try to get home this weekend, sweetheart, I promise," Arthur heard someone say from the next office. The voice was familiar, but somehow foreign, too. He swore he'd know it, if only it was harsher. "Have you done your homework or are you giving Daddy a hard time?"

Scott came back into the hallway and locked his office behind him. He strode to the next door, where the voice was coming from, and stuck his head inside. Arthur trailed behind him and looked over his shoulder. Woo was sitting at her desk with her laptop open and a forgotten, half-eaten carton of salad beside it. She had her mobile pressed to her ear.

"Oh, hang on, sweetheart. Mummy's got visitors," she said sweetly into the receiver before holding the phone to her chest and giving Scott her attention. It struck Arthur. He scanned the walls of the office, wondering if this was some kind of joke. Apparently it wasn't, because framed photographs littered the walls, depicting a young black haired, porcelain skinned girl in most of them, from infancy to what must have been eight years old. There were also pictures of Woo, her hair down and flowing instead of in its usual tight ponytail, with a man, probably her husband.

Arthur never saw Woo as a mother. She was too rigid. Her eyes weren't soft enough or pained enough. All he saw in them were ferocity.

He never even considered she could be a wife, a sister, or a daughter, either. Then he remembered Merlin saying Woo's mother had died of something, and the revelation that she had a mother of her own sent Arthur for another loop.

"What is it?" Woo asked Scott with a touch of the frigidness back in her tone.

"We're popping over to the canteen. Wondered if you wanted to come along?" he offered. Usually, something like that would raise Arthur's pulse. He'd get angry if she said yes, but now he wasn't so sure. He found himself wanting to know more about who Woo was in her personal life. It wouldn't make him trust her; it was more of a startling curiosity.

And, perhaps, in the back of his mind, he heard his father's voice saying, "Know your enemy. Know their weaknesses." Arthur would tell his knights the same thing during training: they had to know exactly where to land the blow during combat.

But Arthur didn't know if he could use a child to get to Woo. But perhaps family wasn't completely off limits in everyone's case . . .

"I've eaten already, thank you," Woo told him, and Scott seemed to accept it. Apparently, he was used to the rejection from her.

He was just about to walk away, and Woo moved to put her mobile back to her ear, but Arthur quickly asked, "Wait, where's Merlin?"

She shrugged in apathy. "Lunch?" she guessed.

Arthur was glad to hear it, and he nearly raced Scott to the community center. He was eager to tell Merlin that he found out where Wilt's office was, and what he learned of Woo. He wondered if Merlin knew she had a family and didn't bother to mention it.

However, Arthur didn't spot Merlin in the canteen. It shouldn't have been hard to find him there, because its density had dwindled over the last few weeks. There were still scattered groups around the tables, but it wasn't what it used to be. At first Arthur thought it was the food. As good as it was, there were only so many canteen meals one could stomach. Arthur was sick of the stuff himself. But the rest of the community center was empty of patients, too, and no one sat on the field or the played on the pitch anymore.

Someone coughed loudly, and it echoed over the murmured conversations. Arthur took another look around for Merlin before giving up and deciding to sit with Scott instead.

* * *

"' _All right then,' said the Savage defiantly, 'I'm claiming the right to be unhappy.'  
_ ' _Not to mention to right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have syphilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen to-morrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind.' There was a long silence.  
_ ' _I claim them all,' said the Savage at last . . ."_

Arthur made sure to wait up for Merlin that night. He kept awake by reading, but the clock told him that it would be lights out in less than fifteen minutes. His mind tumbled as his eyes ran laps up and down the pages, and his thought turned exclusively to Wilt's office. If he could just get inside, he was certain he'd find something that would lead him to Wilt—a scribbled note in a desk drawer, a marked date on a calendar, a journal,  _something_.

Every man left traces. Wilt was no exception. He wasn't a ghost.

Eventually, even Arthur's thoughts of Wilt exhausted themselves and faded away. He tried to reach them again, to build a plan, but they eluded him like water through his fingers.

Distantly, he heard the slamming of a door, but he didn't react to it. He heard his name echo from somewhere. It got louder with repetition. He realized at once that he couldn't remember what he'd read for three pages.

Arthur looked up at to the side to find Merlin crouched down and grinning at him from the opposite side of the glass.

"Away with the fairies?" Merlin teased before folding his legs in front of him on his bed.

Arthur rattled his head to get the cobwebs out. "Must be," he admitted. "You're back early."

"Earl _ier_ ," Merlin corrected. He looked towards the clock across the room, and so did Arthur. It was five minutes to eleven. "Still late."

Arthur closed his book without dog earring it first and set it next to him. "Do you know Woo has a daughter and husband?"

Merlin looked a little taken aback by the sudden shift in topic, but he shrugged once he recovered. "Does she?" he asked like he really didn't care.

"You knew about her mother," Arthur pointed out.

"So?"

"So I just thought maybe you knew she had more family."

Merlin gave an overwrought chuckle. "We don't actually chat, Arthur."

"No, I don't know  _what_  she does to you," Arthur reminded him, not without spite.

Merlin chose to overlook it. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," besides the fact that Dr. Eliza Woo was actually a human being. Scott was a real person off campus, too. It reminded Arthur that all the staff had lives and families. Wilt must have, too. Arthur hadn't even considered that possibility before that afternoon.

"It just got me thinking about our mysterious Dr. Wilt," Arthur went on.

Merlin let out a deep breath, dropped his shoulders, and settled in by stretching out flat on his mattress. "What about him?"

"There must be some way of getting in touch with him."

Merlin shrugged his hands out over his stomach before dropping them back into position. "Why do you care?"

Arthur scoffed. How could Merlin take this so lightly?

"He's the reason we're  _here_. Don't you find it odd that he has no interest in seeing us?" Arthur stressed, trying to convince him. When Merlin didn't answer with anything more than an indifferent raise of his eyebrow, Arthur went on, "I saw his office today. It was locked. I don't think he's been here for a long time. Months—maybe even years. No one seems to know where he is."

"You think he's dead?" Merlin asked.

Arthur considered the question. It would be almost poetic for a man so obsessed with immorality to die right before finding it. But Arthur cared very little for poetry.

"I hope not," he answered. "Because I would quite like a word with him."

They both knew that Arthur wasn't interested in words, at all. A man like Wilt should be held responsible for his crimes. He should answer for the loss and suffering he caused.

"What would you do to him?" Merlin asked, sounding like he was fulfilling a morbid fantasy. Finally, it sounded like Arthur was getting through to him. Even though Merlin never shared his experiences at Eleazar, Arthur was sure he was having a harder time than anyone else on base. Arthur wondered what Merlin would do if he ever got his hands on Wilt. Arthur probably couldn't even imagine something so creative.

"If this were the old days, I'd have him hanged," Arthur snipped. He'd thought about it more than once. He considered, if this were Camelot, putting Wilt in the dungeons for the rest of his life. But that was too good for him. He was chasing life, so Arthur would make damn sure he found death. It couldn't be prolonged; it would have to be quick. Like blowing out a candle.

Now  _that_  would be poetic.

"Sounds a bit harsh," Merlin muttered. It made Arthur glare at him.

"You don't think he deserves it?"

Merlin fell silent. His expression was very far away as he stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't determine what Merlin was thinking, but it worried him. Whatever they were doing to Merlin, it was weakening him. Arthur had to keep him in high spirits. Merlin couldn't give up. He wasn't allowed.

"I think he deserves it," Merlin whispered finally, just loud enough for Arthur to hear it through the glass. Arthur was relieved by the knowledge of there still being some fight left in Merlin.

To strengthen Merlin's resolve, Arthur said, "Good. Because, once we get out of here, we're going after him."

Merlin's let out another deep breath and shifted his jaw thoughtfully.

"We'll find him, Merlin, and we'll make him pay for all of this."

Against his pillow, Merlin's head bobbed up and down a few times in a feeble nod.

Arthur kicked out his legs in front of him and cast a look to the clock. The lights would go out any moment now, like they always did. He laid down beside Merlin.

"I would have told you all this before, but I couldn't find you in the canteen," he said casually. "Where were you, anyway?"

"With Woo," Merlin said into a yawn.

Arthur furrowed his brow up at the ceiling. He must have heard Merlin wrong. "What?"

" _Woo_ ," Merlin said again.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He turned his head quickly towards Merlin, whose eyes were already shut as he said, "She kept me through lunch."

Arthur stared at him for what felt like decades. He didn't know what he was looking for written on Merlin's face, but he felt a weight pressing down on his chest, gaining in mass, with each moment he didn't find it. Merlin didn't appear to know he was being watched.

The lights gave one last buzz before shutting off, and Arthur could no longer see Merlin in the darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

A bonfire was being set up in the field. Arthur watched from the lounge as three Eleazar employees ripped up cardboard boxes and tossed them onto the kindling. He looked up at the threatening, overcast sky, doubting the planned festivities for the night were going to happen. The cardboard would be too soggy, and the wood would be too damp to produce anything other than gray smoke.

Still, nurses hung up fliers announcing the fire would be lit at eight-thirty and there would be coffee and tea, followed by a safety reminder in small print, " _In case of fire emergency, please congregate in the canteen_."

In addition to the fliers, staff went around to the patients handing out masks. Arthur glowered down at the one he was given, and it glared right back with its empty eye sockets. It was the most ghoulish thing he'd ever seen, and he didn't know how he felt about watching all the other patients sit around the flickering flames while wearing them. Halloween had been a few days ago; it was best to leave the fancy dress to the previous week.

"Boo!" someone shouted, taking him by surprise. He jumped slightly at the woman who was towering over him. She was wearing a Guy Fawkes mask on her face. However, Arthur recognized her, and his thumping heart settled.

"Very funny," he droned as Beatrice lifted up her mask to reveal her gleeful smile.

"You coming tonight?" she asked him hopefully.

He shrugged dispassionately.

"No, you  _must_!" she nearly shrieked. She flung herself on the couch cushion next to him and gave his shoulder a shake. "I'll be there. It'll be fun!"

"I don't know if anyone will go," he told her, scanning the lounge up and down. Hardly any patients milled about it anymore. Most of them were confined to their beds. "Is  _anyone_  well enough to stand out in the freezing cold at night?"

"That's what the tea's for," she quipped, giving him a nudge. "Warm you up."

He rolled his eyes and looked back down at the pale mask in his hands.

"Oh, say you'll come! Just for a bit.  _Pleaseeeeee_."

"Fine!" he promised, if only to make her stop whining. " _You're_  in a good mood today."

"Well, I've got reason to be," she told him with a smirk that only confused him. "I found out something last week."

She wriggled her eyebrows at him and kept smiling, like she expected him to guess. He shook his head to encourage her to go on.

"I'm in remission!"

Arthur's jaw dropped. From what he remembered, remission was a good thing. A great thing, in fact. "You're kidding?"

"No!" She was vibrating with happiness. "It's just like my mum, can you believe it? Good old Eleazar. I told you so!"

Arthur beamed at her. He was happy to know she'd be all right; that, after this was all over, Beatrice could go home to her family and job and live her life in full. He was just about to congratulate her when the loud screech of tires pierced him. Both of them looked out the window, where five flatbeds were roaring south down the dirt path.

"What the hell's going on?" he thought aloud.

"Don't know," Beatrice answered anyway. "Maybe another riot?"

He tore his eyes from the window to look at her. "Riot?"

"On the prison side," she told him. "They've been acting out—twice now. They've been attacking guards and doctors, trying to break out, everything."

Arthur shook his head, astounded. "I haven't heard this."

He had to find a way to reach the prisoners. He'd been so focused on Wilt recently that he'd been distracted from his escape plan. It seemed his army had started the fight without them; now, all they needed was a leader.

"What would you do without me keeping you in the loop, Arthur Pennington?" Beatrice laughed. She flicked her mask to bring it back down to her face and jumped up from the couch. "I'd best see you tonight. I've got a present for you."

He quirked his brow. "What is it?"

"You'll see," she sang mysteriously, and she trotted off.

* * *

The hole under the fence was just big enough for Arthur to fit through. Admittedly, it would be a tight squeeze, but he didn't have the time or the patience to account for comfort. Black filth lined his fingernails from clawing at the dirt, and the bottom wires of the chain links scratched his back and tore his sweatshirt, but the air was somehow fresher on the other side of the fence. His clothes were caked with dirt and his skin felt gritty, but it was paired with the mental sense of accomplishment. He was free. He wondered if this was how Andy Dufresne felt.

Casting his handiwork a self-satisfied smile, he turned around and started away from the fence towards the hills. He'd be able to get a better vantage point of the prison from above, and any sporadically placed CCTV cameras wouldn't be able to catch him from the distance.

About a kilometer from the base, giant boulders jutted out from the earth, and Arthur chose the largest of them to climb. The rock was bitingly cold, making his fingers freeze numbly as he dug them into the grooves. Once or twice, he lost his footing and scraped his skin, but soon he rolled onto the very top of the boulder and laid there long enough to catch his breath. As his heart pumped in his ears, he blinked up at the gray sky. The winds beating over the hills whipped at his cheeks and make them chapped and rosy. His shoulders ached with tension.

He forced himself to his feet. From the boulder, he could see the entirety of the Eleazar base like it was made for dolls—some edgy new Barbie Dream World. The main portion of the base looked calm and quiet but, although he couldn't hear any shouts carried on the wind, he could tell more was going on in the prison camp.

If he squinted, he could see more patrols had been set up along the south gate. There was another checkpoint on the western wall, where large flatbed vehicles were positioned. Arthur thought he heard dogs.

A thick trail of smoke spiraled up from one of the builds, mixing with the dark clouds above. At first, he considered a fire had been started in the riots, but the smoke was too concentrated. It looked like it was coming from a chimney.

The reminder of heat made him realize how frigid he was. He rubbed his hands together and blew hot air into them.

Deciding to get a view of the other side of the base, he slowly started climbing down the boulder. On the way, his fingers slipped out of a groove and he lost his grip in a moment of a panic. He fell the rest of a way, which was only a few feet. It wouldn't have hurt if he hadn't landed on something flat and hard. It nearly knocked the wind out of him. Whatever it was caused a dull thud and echo.

Grunting at the pain in his spine, he sat up and glared at the ground beneath him, expecting to find a rock. What he saw instead was a thin layer of dirt over a steel plank. He blinked at it a few times, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him, before pushing away some of the earth. The metal glinted as it reflected the light on the clouds.

There was a handle on the trapdoor, and Arthur didn't hesitate to pull it up. The leftover dirt sprinkled downward into the darkness underneath. There was a ladder propped up against the wall of dirt and rock. Arthur squinted into the pit as he tried to see how far down the ladder went. The sun wasn't bright enough to reveal what was inside.

He looked around to make sure no one was near, as finding a trapdoor in the earth was bound to make one feel like they were being watched. There was no one present. Readying himself for anything, he stepped onto the top rung of the ladder and lowered himself down.

As it turned out, it wasn't a far descent. The ceiling of the bunker, which was somehow carved in the rock beneath the earth, was just a few inches from the topsoil. Arthur jumped down the last few rungs and stepped further into the room.

It wasn't massive, but it was decent sized. There were two long workbenches against either wall, one of which was piled high with yellowing books and one scattered with loose papers, glass vials, candles with dripping wax suspended in time, and a few cracked beakers. There was also a cot pushed up against the back wall. It reminded Arthur a little bit of Gaius' chambers.

His footsteps echoed as he moved further into the shadows, away from the dull film of light that peaked in through the trapdoor. He went to the cluttered workbench first and picked up a handful of pages. They were covered in what looked like complex math equations that Arthur couldn't make heads or tails of.

He considered bringing them to Merlin to decipher, but quickly decided against it. It was best to keep the bunker secret until he found something of relevance.

Instead, he dropped the pages back to the table and picked up a shard of a broken beaker. It was covered in a layer of dirt. Some of the shards that had fallen to the floor crunched under Arthur's shoes. Whoever occupied the bunker hadn't been there for a long time, and it appeared they'd left in a hurry. Arthur wondered why that was.

He crossed to the other workbench and picked up a book on the top of the pile, causing a puff of dust to cloud upwards that made him cough. He brushed the caked on dust off the cover with the flat of his palm, and enough of it streaked off for him to see the golden, cursive letters embossed upon it:  _Le Morte d'Arthur_.

His breath caught.

Keeping the book's leather spine in his hand, he quickly sifted through the other books on the table. There were some medical journals and there were a few novels Arthur recognized: _Crime and Punishment_ ,  _The Old Man and the Sea_ ,  _The Wizard of Oz_ ,  _Brave New World_ , and so on. However, most of the books were Arthurian legends.

Arthur at once realized the bunker belonged to Wilt.

He flipped through the pages of one of the books, finding notes and scribbles etched into the margins. The handwriting wasn't like the neat, curved script Arthur suddenly realized he'd expected. It was messy and common and almost familiar. There were doodles and patterns, too, which were apparently mindlessly drawn. Most of the notes made no sense to Arthur. Again, they were equations or some hurried thought. There was a list reading "milk, eggs, carrots" on the title page of  _King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table_.

He picked up  _The Once and Future King_  and flipped quickly through the pages. Something thick fell out and thumped softly onto the ground. It was a stack of postcards held together by a fat rubber band. Furrowing his brows at it, Arthur placed the novel back on the pile and picked up the postcards.

They were from all over, depicting glossy scenes throughout the world. There was the Colosseum in Rome, the Acropolis in Athens, and the Statue of Liberty in New York; there were cards from Paris, Barcelona, St. Petersburg, Istanbul, Brazil, and on and on. Most of them were crumpled and yellow with tears in their brittle paper, but some of them looked relatively new and in good condition.

None of them were dated, and there was no address on their backs. But they all had the same scribbled message:

_Wish you were here.  
_ _-M_

"M," Arthur thought aloud. Whoever this M person was, they seemed to care a great deal about Wilt. Arthur wondered what the initial stood for. If he could figure that out, it could lead to Wilt. Maybe he'd joined M on his or her adventures around the world.

He shoved the stack of postcards into the front pocket of his sweatshirt and brought his attention back to the books. He found himself grinning at them. If Wilt had mindlessly jotted down his shopping list, perhaps there was a hint of who M was somewhere in the pages. Maybe there was even a full name.

Collecting a pile of books in his arms, Arthur brought them to the other table and got to work.

* * *

To Arthur's surprise, the weather held out, and as promised he made his way to the bonfire after he'd lost the sunlight and had to make his way back to the base. He'd flipped through half a dozen of the marked up books but found nothing of relevance—just more bits of equations and chemical symbols from the periodic table. There were certainly no mentions of M, but perhaps there were more books and notes in his office. He had to get into it before Woo did.

He wondered if Woo knew about the bunker.

He wondered if Wilt had ever returned to it, and if he would again.

When Arthur got back to the base, he quickly showered and changed into fresh, non-soiled clothes to not arouse any suspicion. He hid the postcards beneath his pillow.

The fire was already lit by the time he got to the field, and the orange light contrasted the deep, dark sky and painted the surrounding buildings with a menacing glow. There were more people than Arthur expected there to be around the fire, with their shadows dancing in every direction around them. He supposed the nurses convinced them a night out would be good for them.

It was an odd mix. Some were hunched over in wheelchairs while others shuffled around one another, and some were lively and well. The ill versus healthy seemed to have broken into groups similar to the individual's condition. Arthur wondered where he fit in.

If that didn't make it hard enough, it was difficult to tell who was who. Everyone wore those godforsaken masks. Arthur's own was perched on the top of his head, as he felt ridiculous every time he wore it over his face. He hoped Beatrice would spot him in the crowd when he walked closer to the fire. He stood right on its edge and looked into it, watching the kindling furl and sparks shoot up in every direction. It made his eyes hurt.

He wondered where Merlin was, and if he was at the fire at all. The intense, numbing heat of a campfire felt strange without Merlin sitting across from him.

"Hey, you made it!" came Beatrice's voice. Arthur looked to his side to find her approaching and lifting her mask from her face. She was bundled up in the usual sweatpants and, since the cold weather arrived, long sleeve shirt. There was also a splash of color around her neck, a red and gold scarf.

"For you," Beatrice told him. She removed the scarf from around her neck and stood on her toes to toss it over his shoulders.

Arthur looked down at himself and grinned thankfully. "How do I look?"

"Hotter than the fire!" she teased, making him chortle. She always said such ridiculous things.

He tossed one of the ends over his opposite shoulder, and when he did he noticed something stitched into the hanging end. He held it up for closer inspection. It was the silhouette of a dragon with a thick cross behind it, all enclosed in a circle.

Arthur focused on the dragon and gaped. He must have let out some unsure sounds because Beatrice asked in a worried tone, "Oh, no. You hate it, don't you?"

"No, no!" he assured her urgently. He showed her the sigil— _his_  sigil. "What is this?"

Suddenly, Beatrice was sheepish. He'd never seen her coy. It was a little endearing. "I've just been so pleased ever since I got my good news," she told him. "I've been stitching into everything. Plus, it's where we met, isn't it? I thought, I don't know—something to remember me by when we part ways. I mean—if you want to part ways. I don't know!"

Arthur didn't notice her blushing in the firelight. He shook his head, wishing she'd explain further. "What do you mean, where we met?"

"At Eleazar," she said like it was obvious. "It's their logo."

"Their  _logo_?"

"Yeah!"

Arthur searched his brain, trying to work out how that was possible. Woo said Dr. Wilt had been obsessed with the legends, but how could he have known the Pendragon crest? He tried to remember it was mentioned in one of Merlin's stories or drawn in a book. He couldn't place it, but he hadn't gotten the chance to read everything. Maybe it had been there. It must have been.

"Where did they get it?" he asked, hoping Beatrice had the answer. She seemed to always come to his rescue, but it appeared this time she came up short.

"I don't know, silly!" she laughed. "Where did Renault get  _their_  logo? They just picked it!"

Arthur looked back down at the fabric in his hand. The dragon appeared to slither as it moved in and out of the firelight.

"Stay here, alright?" Beatrice said suddenly, reclaiming his attention. "I'll get us some tea. Back in a tick!"

She pulled her mask back over her face and disappeared from before him. Arthur stood alone for a few minutes, in which he impatiently tried to find her in the crowd. He couldn't, and the fire was starting to get too hot to bear. He figured it would be okay to step away from it.

There were chairs set up on the football pitch, and Arthur decided to claim two of them. He scanned the masked crowd as he made for the chairs. He thought he saw a few orderlies and doctors he recognized, but he could distinguish them. He wondered if Scott was there, but assumed he would have heard his bellowing laugh by now.

His eyes latched on to a particular person standing away from the activity. He was on the peripherals of the glow, with his mask worn like Arthur's on top of his head. He was an old man. Even from the distance, Arthur could see his deeply lined face and thinning white hair. He had a short beard, too. It made Arthur stop dead in his tracks.

He couldn't take his eyes off the man. He couldn't do anything, not even breathe. His mind went blank and his heart jumpstarted with a mixture of fear and fury. Before Arthur realized it, he was marching towards him. The man didn't seem to notice Arthur.

Someone grabbed Arthur's shoulder. It was a weak touch, but it was enough to startle Arthur and make him spin around. It was Eddy. He looked thinner than the last time Arthur saw him. In fact, he looked almost emaciated. He was wheeling an oxygen tank around at his back. Its cord wrapped around his ears and was fitted into his nostrils. It stunned Arthur.

"Good to see ya, mate," Eddy said in a frail voice.

Arthur blinked a few times and stammered. "Yes, I—"

A bitter smile stretched Eddy's cheeks. He must have sensed Arthur's discomfort. "I know," he said ruefully. "Bloody 'eart disease, right?"

Arthur peered over his shoulder. The old man was putting down his mask to hide his face. He turned away and vanished into the darkness. Arthur's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't lose him.

"I'm sorry, I've got to go," he told Eddy quickly, not even looking back at him. He started as quickly as he could without drawing suspicion after the old man.

Arthur made sure to stay close to the walls of the buildings, and caught up with the old man's back when he whipped around a corner. The man seemed to be headed towards the main building. Arthur crept behind him at a safe distance, careful not to make a sound, and the old man didn't seem to know he was being followed.

Arthur's instinct was to call the man out, yelling at him to stop, or to get the jump on him. He refrained. He wanted to know where the man was going. He wanted to be certain before he did anything too rash.

Sneaking after a person meant the pursuer had to remain silent. Merlin probably never called after someone he was tailing.

The old man brought Arthur to the door of the main building, and Arthur waited outside until the count of sixty before following him in. He shut the door gently behind him, and the florescent-lit corridor stretched out empty before him.

Arthur's stomach sank. He wondered if the man had turned down an adjacent corridor or stepped into a room. He walked quickly down the hall, looking into every corridor and open door he passed. They were all empty. Soon, Arthur was running.

He caught movement at the end of a connecting hallway and had to double back to peer around the corner. It was the old man. He was almost at the end of the hall. Arthur trained his breathing and followed after him.

The old man led him through the labyrinth like he knew exactly where he was going—like he knew every inch of the building by heart. Soon, things began to look familiar, and Arthur realized he was being led to the doctors' offices.

When he reached that part of the building, Arthur made sure to fall back as far as he dared. He stayed around the corner and curled himself around the wall. The old man had stopped walking. He was standing at an opened door, bent halfway into the threshold. Arthur couldn't see what he was doing inside.

Arthur snuck around the corner into the hallway. All the other doors were closed, and everything was silent. He placed one foot closely in front of the other, keeping his eyes fixed on the old man. Soon, the old man straightened out. He stepped backwards. He was wheeling something out the room.

It was a janitor's cart.

Arthur stopped short. He'd been following the caretaker.

The caretaker finally seemed to notice his presence. He gave a startled sound and said in annoyance, "Don't sneak up on an old man like that, boy! You'll give me a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry," Arthur stuttered, feeling foolish. He also felt a little relieved as he realized he had no idea what his plan was if the man actually did turn out to be Wilt.

He put up his hands and backed away slowly. "I didn't mean—I'm sorry."

The caretaker grumbled, and Arthur shamefacedly turned away. He did so just in time to see someone start with shock and rush back into the connecting hallway like they were trying to hide. Arthur furrowed his brow. He could have sworn it was Merlin.

Arthur raced after the figure, and he turned the corner in time to see that it  _was_  Merlin, who had almost slid into a wall as he turned another corner. Arthur didn't have time to stop. He ran at full speed until he'd finally caught up to Merlin, two hallways later, and slammed him against the wall. Merlin grunted in the process.

"What the hell are you doing?" Arthur demanded, not sounding as commanding as he would have liked through panting breaths. He ignored the stitch in his side.

"Avoiding Woo. What the hell are  _you_  doing?" Merlin shot back.

Arthur fixed him with a hard glare, looking for signs of a lie. He tried to remember if he'd seen Woo by the bonfire, but he couldn't have known with all the masks. She didn't seem like a person who would join in a Guy Fawkes Night celebration, so it was possible she was working late with Merlin. Still, Arthur was finding it hard to believe a word Merlin said anymore.

He released Merlin and backpedalled a few steps. Merlin rubbed the soreness out of where Arthur was gripping him.

"Then, why were you running?" Arthur asked suspiciously.

"I didn't know it was you," Merlin answered immediately.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him.

"What?" Merlin asked.

"Woo will find you eventually, you know. There are cameras." He gestured to one on the ceiling, but it wasn't until he looked did he realize the red light wasn't on. "You turned off the cameras, did you?" Arthur realized.

"I didn't want to make it easy for her," Merlin told him.

All it did was further Arthur's distrust. Why was Merlin sneaking around the offices when he could have gone to the bonfire, where everyone's face was hidden? It would have been a better hiding place than this.

Arthur reached up and ripped the mask off his head. He thrust it into Merlin's chest, and Merlin hugged it so it wouldn't fall to the floor.

"There," Arthur sneered. "You might as well wear it if you're going to keep hiding behind one."

Merlin looked like he had no idea what Arthur was saying. "What does that mean?"

Arthur scoffed bitterly. "I don't know,  _Mer_ lin. You tell me." Arthur was tired. He'd go as far as to say he was exhausted. He suddenly remembered that he left Beatrice at the bonfire. She'd offered to get him tea. That sounded a lot better than arguing in a hallway with Merlin. It wouldn't get them anywhere.

"Tell you  _what_?" Merlin asked, sounding frustrated. Good. It was about time he was as irritated as Arthur.

Merlin clutched the mask in his fist, crinkling the plastic, and brandished it. "Don't you think you're being a  _little_  dramatic?" It was enough for Arthur know his anger required no explanation. He was certain Merlin had an idea of what this was all about. After all, he  _wasn't_  an idiot.

"Tell Woo hello for me, if you even  _are_  going to see her tonight," Arthur said through barred teeth. Merlin looked even more lost than before, but Arthur didn't care for the act. He marched down the hallway, trying to focus on his tea getting cold.

* * *

_The cold shoulder_  wasn't exactly an apt enough term to describe what Arthur had given Merlin after that encounter. One would have thought December had come early.

Arthur's bed was no longer pushed against the glass. He'd moved it weeks ago. It was now by the wall, where he'd originally found it on his first day at Eleazar. At first, Merlin was confused by it. Three nights in a row, he asked Arthur about it like he couldn't work it out. Arthur never answered. He kept his nose in his book like he hadn't heard Merlin and was too enraptured by Winston Smith's plight. (The only downside was that Arthur was forced to glaze over any word he came across that he didn't know instead of being able to ask Merlin its meaning.)

By the fourth night, Merlin got angry. He shouted until his face turned red. He'd fallen asleep with his back facing Arthur and his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

Two weeks went by after that, and Arthur didn't see Merlin in all that time. He was always fast asleep before Merlin returned. Even if Arthur were talking to him, he wouldn't ask where Merlin was on those late nights. He wouldn't get a truthful answer, anyway, so what was the point?

Then, one night, Merlin was back. His anger seemed to have subsided. He knelt on his mattress, still hopefully lined up against the glass, and spoke sad, soft words to Arthur. It was almost enough to crack Arthur's shell, but then Merlin asked, "What have I done?" That only incensed Arthur further. Merlin knew exactly what he was doing, and Arthur didn't know whether or not he wanted to find out for himself.

That night, it was passed lights out, but Arthur couldn't sleep. He stared at the dark wall and listened out for movement. All he heard was the background hum of the heater. Merlin wasn't in his room. Arthur assumed he was sneaking around somewhere.

He thought back to all the times Merlin had gone missing in Camelot. He very much doubted that he'd been collecting herbs all those times, like Gaius claimed. He wondered how many times Merlin and Gaius sat across from each other at their dinner table, laughing at how they pulled the wool over Arthur's eyes once more. He felt so stupid.

The thoughts made his head ache with a dull thump. His vision started to blur, and static appeared before his eyes. It was like he could see every particle of the darkness.

Merlin's door opened, making a stream of bright light flood the shadows. Arthur instinctually winced and looked towards it in annoyance. However, his irritation faded when he saw Merlin's silhouette stumble through the threshold and tumble to the floor with a groan.

Arthur suddenly forgot all his anger and humiliation. It drained from him instantaneously as Merlin writhed slowly in pain with his cheek pressed against the tiles.

"Merlin," Arthur said urgently, unable to get his voice above a whisper. He fought himself out of his tangled blanket and rushed towards the glass. " _Merlin_!"

Merlin only continued to groan with soft gasps in between them, like he was crying.

Arthur had to get to him. He sprang across the room and pounded his fists on his door until they ached. His mind spun in a panic. " _Gadewch i mi allan_!" he shouted at the top of his voice. " _Ewch â fi at Merlin_!"

He slammed his shoulder against the door a few times, like he could break it down. He nearly fell through it when it was torn open. Arthur didn't wait to find out who had opened it. He raced down the corridor and into the next until he reached Merlin's door. He jiggled the handle a few times, but it wouldn't budge. He didn't know how to unlock it.

There were rushed footfalls from down the hall, and Arthur turned his head to find an orderly running towards him. He reasoned it must have been the man who opened his door.

" _Agorwch y drws_ ," Arthur demanded through the lump in his throat. It occurred to him that he wasn't speaking English, but he suddenly couldn't find a single word of the language. He felt like he was in a haze. The bright lights made the hallway spin around him dizzyingly as his mind focused completely on Merlin.

The orderly must have understood what he wanted, because he tapped his ID card to the sensor next to the door, and it clicked open. Arthur pushed through and, with a rush of blood to his head, landed on his knees next to Merlin, who had stopped writhing to lie still on his back and breathe heavily.

The orderly had stayed at the door, keeping it open. In the light from the hallway, Arthur saw Merlin's skin was scarred badly. The wounds rippled his arms along with blisters and blood. They reached up his neck and lined his cheeks. His hair was scorched off around one of his ears.

He looked like he'd been burnt, like a sorcerer on a stake.

"Merlin," Arthur breathed, horrified.

Merlin's eyes were red and glossy. He looked at Arthur like he'd just realized he was there, and his face contorted. He turned his head away as though to hide his face.

"Arthur," he choked out, just audible.

" _Dwi yma_ ," Arthur assured him. His hands ghosted over Merlin, but he was too afraid to touch him. He didn't want to cause any more pain. " _Rwy'n gyda chi_."

"English," Merlin breathed and Arthur tried to crack a smile. Maybe things wouldn't be so bad if Merlin smiled back. He didn't. The world didn't correct itself; it instead continued to wobble.

Arthur realized the door was still open, and the orderly was still standing in it. Arthur glared at him, daring him to try to separate them. The orderly made no move to do so. In fact, he was staring down at Merlin with the same look of paralyzed horror Arthur wore. His eyes flickered to Arthur, and he turned sheepish. Quickly, like he wanted to get out that situation immediately, he closed the door. Arthur knew he wouldn't be back. The orderlies, the technicians, the assistants, the guards—none of them ever asked any questions.

He refocused on Merlin, knowing he had to get him off the floor. He had no choice but to touch him for that, so he fitted his arms underneath Merlin and scooped him up. It seemed to cause another shudder of pain, but Merlin didn't fight him. Arthur struggled to his feet and carried Merlin to the mattress.

When he set him down gently on the blanket, he saw Merlin's eyelids fluttering rapidly. His irises were glowing gold as his magic fought against his wounds. He even started to chant something under his breath, but Arthur couldn't make it out. However, it seemed to settle Merlin. His eyes fell closed, and his breaths evened out.

Arthur just stared for a while, not knowing what to do. Should he call the orderly back to take him to his room? Should he sit by Merlin's side all night in vigil? He didn't know if he could do either. He wanted to find out what had been done to Merlin, and if this was Woo's fault. Had she tried to kill him again, this time with fire? Arthur would kill  _her_.

He suddenly felt moved to do just that, and he almost jumped to his feet to find her.

Merlin must have sensed it, because his scarred hand reached out and grabbed Arthur's shirt, twisting the fabric. " _Aros gyda mi_."

Arthur nodded, even though Merlin's eyes were closed. Carefully, he crawled over Merlin and laid on his side on the small mattress, with his back pressed against the cool glass. He kept his eyes on Merlin's profile, watching him take in measured, shaky breaths.

Soon, Arthur eyes became heavy, and he started to drift off.

"I just wanted you back," he thought he heard Merlin say, but he was on the cusp of sleep. He might have dreamed it.

* * *

Arthur couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming, but it woke him up in the middle of the night. The clock on the wall blared  _3:32_  in red, block letters, and Arthur blinked at it in disorientation. The arm he was laying on spiked with pins and needles, and he tried to shift his position to take his weight off of it.

And then Merlin shuffled in sleep. Arthur remembered what had happened just hours before, and it stilled him. He still didn't know if it was okay to touch Merlin, so instead he propped himself up to look at him.

Even in the shadows, he could tell the scars on Merlin's face had diminished greatly. The scabs on his arms had faded and his blisters were gone. The hair that had been seared off had grown back to its original length. Merlin's body was recovering, and Arthur found himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fist in pain as the blood rushed back into his dying arm. He wished he had a magical cure, too.

His eyes dropped down to Merlin's torso, where his arm was slung across. Arthur couldn't prevent himself from reaching for his wrist and turning it over to look at the dragon tattoo. He traced it idly with his thumb as he thought back to the same sigil sewn into his scarf. They were almost identical, and impossible, and it suddenly felt less like Arthur had branded Merlin and more like Eleazar had.

His vision flickered back up, and Merlin was smiling gently in his sleep, like he could feel the pads of Arthur's fingertips tickling the rough skin. Arthur laid back down, but kept his arm resting over Merlin's, and went back to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

The next morning, Merlin was gone before Arthur woke up. With no way to know what happened to Merlin, Arthur spent most of the day inwardly wringing his hands. He busied himself by returning to Wilt's bunker to read more of his notes, but he couldn't focus on them. He was starting to think there was nothing in them, anyway. Soon, Arthur's eyes glazed over and his mind spun with emptiness and he decided to give up for the day.

He was relieved when he got back to the field that afternoon to find Merlin sitting at a picnic table, watching a few of the patients walk or wheel around the field with the aid of the nurses. Arthur bee-lined straight for him.

Merlin gave him a curious but tentative look before returning it to his lap. "Where did you come from?" he asked. Arthur remembered the dirt on the front of his sweatshirt.

"Nowhere," he lied coolly. "I was jogging and I tripped."

Merlin didn't laugh mockingly. He didn't even crack a smile.

Arthur fell onto the bench next to him and leaned his back against the table's edge. He surveyed Merlin closely, checking for any further damage. He didn't see anything immediate. Merlin did not look back.

"You've seemed to have healed quite a bit," Arthur said, brushing his knuckles against Merlin's temple. The skin was still scarred in some areas, especially on his hands, which Merlin continued to stare down at. Other than that, most of the wounds had faded or completely disappeared.

Arthur leaned in closer and dipped his neck to fish for Merlin's eyes.

"Is that because of magic or something else?" he asked, wondering if Woo was giving Merlin Fisher, too. However, Merlin brows were furrowed in confusion.

"What else?"

Arthur took his hand away from Merlin's hairline, realizing his touch had lingered too long. "Nothing," he decided to say, and Merlin didn't pry. He was too distracted by the loss of Arthur's skin on his. He gave up looking at his own hands in favor of Arthur's, but didn't dare to reach out no matter how longing his eyes were.

Arthur remembered his mattress, now pushed up against the wall instead of the glass. Before, he and Merlin had tried to get as close to one another as they could. They would sometimes spread their palms flat against the glass and pretend they could feel the warmth of the other's. Merlin was always so soft and warm, despite how boney and lean he was, and even in Camelot Arthur found himself touching Merlin more than necessary and for longer than he should have.

He trusted Merlin when they touched. Arthur wanted at least an illusion that there were no secrets between them, no barriers, no glass. He moved to lace his fingers with Merlin's, hesitant at first. Merlin's fingers automatically twitched towards his, pushing between them and stroking Arthur's skin. Merlin's flesh was chapped from the chilled air.

Arthur tilted in further to catch Merlin's lips. With his free hand, he caressed Merlin's cheek. Merlin was letting out humming sounds from his throat that caused hot puffs in Arthur's mouth. As they filled Arthur up, he was reminded of springtime.

He wanted to rest Merlin on the bench and climb on top of him. He wanted to touch more, to explore every inch of Merlin. Then he remembered they were in the middle of the community field, with a few patients walking around to get their exercise and CCTV cameras recording them.

Merlin must have remembered it, too, because he pulled far enough back so Arthur couldn't chase him. It unbalanced Arthur for a moment, but he opened his eyes to find Merlin saying, "Come with me."

His swollen lips were in a sly smirk, and Arthur's fingers latched tighter around his in fear of breaking contact, even when Merlin stood up.

"To where?" Arthur asked skeptically.

"I have a surprise for you," said Merlin. He jiggled his arm, making Arthur's ride the motion, as Arthur quirked a brow.

"A  _surprise_?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. With his free hand, he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out something small in his fist. When he opened it, he relieved a condom and a jar of lubricant so little it must have been travel sized.

Arthur jerked his head back in shock, but he could already feel blood rushing to his lap. "Where the hell did you get those?"

Merlin's devious expression remained as he said, "Don't worry about it." And Arthur didn't.

He was gripping Merlin's hand tightly, and he kept holding it as he jumped to his feet.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked, a little dazed, as Merlin led him to the community building.

"Don't know yet," said Merlin. Wherever they were headed, Arthur hoped they'd get there soon.

They cleared the doors into the lounge, where two patients sat quietly reading on different couches. They didn't glance up as Merlin and Arthur passed, which encouraged Arthur. He felt like he could do anything he wanted. He sped up to walk closer behind Merlin, until Merlin's back knocked against his chest with every step. Merlin looked over his shoulder and offered a breathy laugh, and Arthur had half a mind to push him against the wall right then and there.

There were a few people in the canteen when they passed it, and only one person was watching telly in the rec room.

Merlin opened a door a little further down the corridor. It was dark inside, but he shoved himself and Arthur into it and slammed the door behind them. Arthur blinked in the pitch black. There was light filtering in from the crack under the door, but it wasn't enough for his eyes to adjust to.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Suddenly, a light flickered on. Merlin had pulled the cord connected to a single, hanging light bulb. It cast a weak yellow glow around them, barely enough to combat the shadows, and Arthur peered around to find shelves stocked with cleaning supplies.

"Cupboard," Merlin answered like he'd only just realized it himself.

"That's not very romantic," Arthur admitted and turned his nose up at a mop.

"Romance is dead, anyway," Merlin assured him casually. He pressed in close to Arthur until Arthur had no more room to back up, and Arthur finally let go of his hand. He'd need both of his for other things, like running them up the front of Merlin's shirt. His palms brushed against some scar tissue, but much less than he'd expected.

He rubbed his hands around to Merlin's shoulder blades and pulled him in until their lips crashed together. And suddenly Arthur couldn't remember why he'd been mad at him. He forgot about all the lies, ancient and recent, that had come out of Merlin's mouth, and instead dwelled on all the other uses for it. He tightened his grip around Merlin, holding him close so he couldn't run away, until he was certain he couldn't feel any more breath in Merlin's lungs. He opened his eyes to check, but Merlin didn't seem to care very much about breathing. Arthur's eyes fluttered closed again when Merlin deepened the kiss, making their teeth graze together.

Merlin was smirking into it. Arthur could feel it, even after Merlin's wet lips slid down and got caught between Arthur's. Eventually, he moved away from them completely, leaving a cool trail that glistened down Arthur's throat.

Merlin burrowed his nose into the crook of Arthur's neck and sucked at his collar. It made Arthur's mouth watered hotly. Merlin drummed his fingers up and down Arthur's sides, and he occasionally flicked at the elastic of Arthur's trousers. Arthur grabbed him by the wrist and guided his hand down the front of his pants.

"Here," Arthur demanded as he did so, and Merlin didn't resist. He cupped Arthur in his palm and exchanged pressure from fingertip to fingertip like he was playing an instrument. Arthur shuddered despite the sweat lining him. His muscles felt like putty. His eyes rolled back and a moan escaped his throat.

Merlin stifled it by shoving their lips together again frantically. Arthur's chest was pulsing, and all his muscles were tightening. He snaked both hands downward to sink his nails into Merlin's ass. He pushed two fingers inside.

Merlin gasped sharply into his mouth. He seemed to dissolve. His fingers lost their grip, and he pulled his hand out of Arthur's pants. The light above them started to flicker and the shelved products started to thump and rattle. Merlin worked his hips back and forth to crash against Arthur's groin rhythmically. Arthur shoved his fingers deeper, and Merlin responded by thrusting his tongue further into Arthur's mouth. His knuckles latched onto Arthur's hair, and the tugging made Arthur groan.

Then Merlin gasped again, but this time it sounded pained. Arthur tasted iron in his mouth just before Merlin pulled away sharply.

"What the  _fuck_?" Merlin shouted as he brought his hands to his lips.

Arthur extracted his fingers and blinked in annoyance. "What?"

"You bit me!"

" _What_?"

Arthur forcibly removed Merlin's hand to inspect his lips. Even in the lowlight, he could see shimmering crimson lining Merlin's lips and chin.

"Why did you do that?" Merlin whined.

"I didn't mean to!" Arthur yelled back. He hadn't even remembered doing it.

"I didn't know you wanted it  _that_  rough!" Merlin went on complaining. "That really hurt!  _Christ_ , what's the safety word?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and dropped Merlin's wrist. He was already starting to feel irritated now that physical contact was broken.

"Don't be such a—"

The cupboard door opened, and the sudden onslaught of light made Arthur recoil.

When his eyes adjusted, it was to a nurse standing in the doorway looking like he didn't get paid enough for his job. He must have heard all them arguing.

"Okay, you two," the nurse said into a dispassionate sigh. He stepped out of the way and motioned for them to get out of the cupboard. "Go to your room if you want to do that."

Arthur caught Merlin's eyes in embarrassment. They must have looked a sight, all sweaty with tousled hair and swollen—bleeding, in Merlin's case—lips.

"We haven't got a room," Merlin quipped as he walked into the light. "We're in glass cells."

"Very funny," the nurse said dryly.

Arthur followed after Merlin. He risked a look down the corridor, where he saw the two people reading in the lounge straining forward in their seats to find out what was going on. People were sticking their heads out of the canteen, too. Arthur tried not to turn a whole new shade of pink.

"Hang on. What happened there?" the nurse asked, gesturing to Merlin's lips.

Merlin tried to wipe some of the red away, but it kept trickling and staining his teeth. "He bit me."

Arthur let out an unsure sound and defended, "Not on purpose."

The nurse shook his head like he didn't really care. "Go to the toilets and clean yourself up," he told Merlin. "Next time I catch you two doing something like that, I'll have to report you."

The nurse walked by them, and Arthur wasn't sure whether or not he saw Merlin's sarcastic salute. They didn't wait around to find out, as Merlin started for the men's room and Arthur trailed after him.

When they got there, Merlin leaned over the sink, turned on the water, and splashed some repeatedly into his mouth. It made the red turn pink as it dribbled into the basin and spun down the drain; and the water became clearer with each splash. Arthur assumed it was already healing over, and he noticed the burnt scars on Merlin's cupped hands were already less than they had been before.

"Those are healing quickly," Arthur repeated, again unsure what the cause was. He leaned his back against one of the sinks and folded his arms across his chest. He narrowed his eyes as he watched Merlin.

Merlin sloshed some water in his mouth and spit it out. "Yeah, almost like magic," he answered sarcastically, looking up at Arthur in the mirror. He shut the water off, straightened out, and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

"Maybe," Arthur said with consideration. He wondered if Merlin would give the truth if he asked, "Woo isn't giving you anything, is she?" He decided to test his luck.

Merlin frowned in thought and shook his head. "Like what?"

"Like Fisher."

Merlin scoffed humorously. " _No_. Why would she being doing that?"

Arthur shrugged nonchalantly. "Scott's been giving it to me."

Merlin froze. Like the shutter of a camera, his features turned hard. "What? For how long?"

"Almost since we got here," Arthur explained like it really wasn't a big deal. And perhaps it wasn't. Arthur hadn't felt any different since he'd started taking the serum. "He says there's something wrong with me—something in my head."

He made sure to keep his eyes on Merlin, but he didn't know what exactly he was watching out for. Maybe he just wanted to get a rise out of Merlin.

"That's not possible," Merlin said surely, shaking his head in anger.

"Why? You didn't see anything when you ran all those tests on me?"

"You're  _fine_ ," Merlin maintained. It didn't answer Arthur's question.

Merlin closed his eyes and took a breath to calm himself. He turned back to the sink and gripped the basin with white knuckles. When he opened his eyes again, he decided, "You have to make Scott stop giving you Fisher."

Arthur didn't see any reason for that, especially if it was supposedly helping him. "What for?"

Merlin almost snapped his neck to look at Arthur. He looked confused as to why Arthur was questioning him, when he should have felt fortunate that Arthur didn't question him more often—at least, out loud.

"Because you do," Merlin said simply.

"That's not a reason."

Merlin gaped in disbelief as he stood up straight again. "You don't know what it is, Arthur."

Arthur stood up from his lean, too. He squared his shoulders. "And you do?"

Merlin let out a few noises before saying, "You can't trust Scott!" Arthur could tell that wasn't what he really wanted to say, and he was sick of pretence. He wished Merlin would just be blunt. If Merlin wasn't going to drop the act, Arthur would.

"He isn't the one who's been lying to me," Arthur said with venom.

Merlin fell silent. He didn't break eye contact and his features molded into a solid fortress.

The silence spoke volumes, and Arthur let out a breath like Merlin had just confirmed all his suspicions. "At least you're man enough not to deny it," he said, looking to the floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin take a cautious step forward. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Arthur, you have to remember who Scott is."

"I do," Arthur snipped. "He's not like Woo. He's an honorable man."

" _Honorable_?" Merlin repeated, his eyebrows jutting up. "Why? Because he said if you were a good little boy, he'd give you a bed in the dormitories?" He scoffed. " _He's_  lying! It's been months, and he hasn't done what he's promised. He is  _not_  who you think he is, Arthur." His voice got harsher with every word. "He is one of the head scientists at Eleazar, not a nice old man. He knows more than he's letting on."

Arthur didn't believe him. At the moment, he was sure Merlin would say anything to get back in Arthur's good graces. "Then it seems everyone is hiding something from me," he said.

"But  _he's_  hurting you," Merlin argued. "Make him stop administering the drug."

Arthur shook his head stubbornly. "No, I don't think I will." Using his own well-being might have been a gamble, but it was the only ultimatum Merlin would take seriously. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

"I'm trying to protect you," Merlin avowed. He almost seemed convinced of it. Arthur didn't share that confidence.

"Me, or yourself?" he demanded. He couldn't stand to be in the same room as Merlin anymore. He wanted to get out, but he'd be damned if he didn't put Merlin in his place first. "Maybe you've forgotten where your lies led us last time, Merlin, but I haven't. I have the scar Mordred's sword gave me as a reminder."

There was moisture building in Merlin's eyes. Arthur didn't care. He was seething. He stormed past Merlin, careful not to touch him, and out the door.


	12. Chapter 12

There were no shouts or laughter carried on the wind anymore. Arthur looked over his shoulder at the buildings near the community center. They were shrouded in fog. None of the patients were out anymore. He wished he could blame it on the cold.

He dug his hands into his pockets to protect them from the air and huddled against his sweatshirt and scarf. With every step, the buildings behind him became less visible in the gray day. He passed the outlying buildings, which were as motionless as the day Arthur got to Eleazar. He found himself subconsciously counting out the familiar steps towards his hole in the fence.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the place where the hole was.

Where it supposed to be.

In its place was compacted, grassless dirt. The rocks were gone. Arthur blinked around, trying not to get ahead of himself. It was possible he'd accidentally gone to the wrong spot, and the real one was down the fence a little. He searched quickly in both directions. There was nothing.

Despite the cold air, Arthur suddenly felt very hot. His muscles clenched and he shouted in a way that bounced off the mist surrounding him. He kicked the fence hard, making the wires shake and ring. He kicked up some of the dirt. His temper made his blood pressure spike and his shoulders tense up. Pain shot instantly into his head, making him stop abruptly to clutch it until the initial shock of it subsided.

It was useless. It was over. He sat down heavily on the grass next to the dirt patch and leaned back against the fence. It dipped under the pressure, but it was sturdy enough not to break—unfortunately. He closed his eyes and tried to level out his breathing.

Something was revving and kicking up gravel in the close distance. He opened his eyes towards it to find a flatbed lorry headed for one of the nearby buildings. Arthur felt a sudden jolt of resolve. He made a decision. It was a very Merlin-ish decision, just like when he'd followed the caretaker, just like when he'd broken into the Bryant's house. He was going to sneak around again.

Maybe Merlin was a bad influence on him, after all.

He jumped to his feet and pulled his sweatshirt's hood over his head.

He gave the building a wide berth, ensuring to stay away from the paths or the road. At that point, Arthur had figured out where all the CCTV cameras were casting their glass eyes. He snuck along one of the unmonitored outer walls until he was adjacent to the garage the lorry always pulled into. He waited and listened for it to get closer.

Soon, the truck was idling outside, and there was a rumble as the door started to lift up. Arthur ignored the panicked skip of his heart and crouched down low. He raced to the back of the lorry just as it was pulling in. He slipped into the building and quickly scanned for a place to hide.

The inside was nothing like the building he was being kept in. It was less renovated, and looked more like the floor of a warehouse or storage facility. There were a few bins piled up to his right, and Arthur dove behind them as the lorry's tail lights flashed to signal it was put into park. The garage door hummed again as it slid closed.

Both front doors opened, and two men stepped out. They crossed to the back of the flatbed and opened up its backdoors. Arthur peered around the side of the bins, but he couldn't see what was inside.

Suddenly, there was a banging noise that made Arthur jump unexpectedly. Heavy double doors across the room had slammed open, and two orderlies pushing gurneys came through.

"Just two today?" one of them asked the lorry driver as they approached the vehicle.

"Just two," he confirmed. He nodded towards his companion, and the two heaved themselves into the back of the lorry and disappeared into the shadows. Shortly enough, they came back into view supporting a large, flat black bag between them. One orderly leveled the gurney with the back of the flatbed, and the drivers dropped the bag down on top of it.

Arthur realized it was a body bag, and an occupied one at that. His stomach flopped. Those weren't orderlies at all. They were morgue attendants.

When the second body bag was in place, the drivers jumped out of the back and closed the doors. One attendant offered them a tablet. The driver ticked something off before handing it back. Then he stretched and grunted like he was exhausted from a long day's work. "I could use a cuppa, me."

"In the office, Jer," the other attendant said. They parted ways: the attendants and their gurneys headed back for the double doors and the drivers walked in the opposite direction towards the closer door. Arthur knew which group he was going to follow.

He waited until the drivers had disappeared before leaving his hiding spot and stealing around the lorry. Ahead of him, the attendants had almost reached the doors. They were chatting as they went. Arthur tiptoed behind them, pausing only briefly when one attendant pressed her ID to the sensor on the door.

There was a moment when Arthur frantically thought he wouldn't make it before the doors closed again, but got to them just in time to stop it with his foot. He slipped inside, and the corridor beyond looked much more like the building he'd been staying it. However, he couldn't spot any cameras, and there was a constant background whirling noise, like machinery using power to stay on. And it was freezing. Arthur felt a chill rattle his spine.

The two attendants were still talking quietly as they continued on. They turned a corner, making one of the gurney wheels rattle and whine. Arthur quickly started after them, but a spike of pain in his head suddenly halted him. His hand shot to his forehead. His temples were pounding.

The lights were blinding him and burning his eyes, which had not yet adjusted to their glare. Everything became much whiter, much more sterile. He grunted without knowing it. Footsteps resonated through him, and he realized the two attendants were coming back down the corridor.

Arthur tried to pull himself together long enough to slink into the first door he saw and click it slowly closed. He kept his hand clutching onto the handle and his forehead pressed against the door. Its cool surface stifled his headache slightly, and the lights weren't so intense anymore. He tamed his breathing as the footsteps passed by outside, and soon everything fell silent.

He extracted himself from the door and looked over his shoulder at the room he'd hidden in. The far wall had over a dozen shiny metal morgue refrigerator drawers expanding across it in rows. Some of them had small cards with a string of handwritten numbers on them in the plaque holders. Arthur froze at the sight of them, and he realized at once why it was so cold in the building and what the background hum was.

He wondered if all the rooms were like this.

In the center of the room, two metal tables were set up. One was empty and reflecting the light above, and the other supported a white sheet with a lump under it. A human-shaped lump. It wasn't moving.

Arthur squared his jaw.

He couldn't stop himself. He paced closer to stand over it, debating whether or not he should remove the sheet. It wasn't the dead body that made him hesitant. Lord knew he'd seen enough of those in his time. (He'd even been one for a stint.) But he didn't know exactly what he'd be faced with. What had the person died from? Not a wound on the battlefield. What if the body was still warm? What if it had vile contusions or lesions?

What if he recognized the person?

Unable to shake the morbid twinge of curiosity in the back of his mind, he reached over and lifted up the sheet with both hands, folding the top back at the chest.

Arthur's eyes softened at the cold face.

It was Eddy.

Eddy offered nothing in return for Arthur's empathy, as the dead never do. His features remained expressionless. His eyes stayed closed. His chapped, pale lips stayed shut. He blended into the sheen of the table somehow.

Arthur folded the sheet back over his face, not sure if he wanted to give himself or Eddy privacy.

There were footsteps coming from the corridor again, along with a wave of indistinct words. It didn't sound like they were chatting. It sounded purposeful. Arthur reasoned they were coming for that room. Why else would a body be out?

He searched around wildly, looking for a cupboard to hide in or another door out. There was nothing, just the cold chambers.

Arthur had no choice. He rushed toward one of the doors without a written out plaque and tore it open. The slab inside was empty. He shoved his legs in and slid down the solid surface on his stomach, making his shirt bunch up so his skin made contact with the shocking chill. He ignored it and grabbed the side of the door, closing it as best he could. A crack of light broke the surrounding darkness, just big enough for Arthur to wink one eye shut and see a sliver of Eddy's table outside.

It was much colder in the refrigerator than it had been in the room. Arthur's skin ached with prickling goosebumps and he tried to clamp his jaw closed to keep his teeth from chattering.

He heard the door of the room open, and the footsteps weren't muffled anymore. Two people, a man and a woman, in white lab coats came into view. The man had a camera on a tripod held between his hands, and he quickly began setting it up next to Eddy's table. The woman stood across from him and folded back Eddy's sheet.

"Was this one administered Fisher or the placebo?" she asked the man.

"Placebo," he answered in a preoccupied tone as he fiddled with the camera. "Just like the rest of them."

The woman produced a syringe and a vial of yellow liquid and snorted a laugh. "At least we know Fisher's good for  _something_. Just not what it's actually supposed to do."

"Healing people is a start."

"Yeah," she agreed as she filled up the needle. "Not for this unlucky bastard."

From over the camera, the man shot her a meaningful look, as if to ask if she was ready. Arthur didn't see her expression, but she must have answered in the affirmative, because the man clicked one last button on the camera and a red light flashed on. He then moved to the top of the table and placed a hand firmly on either of Eddy's shoulders.

Arthur got the impression that they'd both done this many times before. They had a smooth system worked out between them.

The woman slid the needle into the side of Eddy's neck and pushed down on the stopper. When she pulled out, she immediately took a step backward, away from the table and out of Arthur's view.

For a moment, nothing happened. And then Eddy started to move. It was a fidget at first, and then he moved his arm. Arthur's mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, but the doctor's expression did not change.

"Edward?" the woman asked. She crowded in again to look down at him. "Edward Tyler? Do you know your name?"

Some croaking sounds escaped Eddy. Arthur imagined how big his eyes must have been, how they must have searched the room in confusion in hopes for familiarity. In fact, Arthur didn't  _have_  to imagine it. He knew all too well.

" _Ed . . . ward_ ," Eddy choked out, and Arthur didn't know if it was because Eddy actually knew his name or if he was just parroting.

"That's right. Edward," praised the woman like she was teaching a child the alphabet.

There were more croaking sounds. Then Eddy began to convulse. His full body shook with tremors, and the man holding him pressed down further on Eddy's shoulders with a contorted face.

Arthur's heart pounded against his ribcage, and he was straining his jaw for an entirely different reason than the cold. He had to stop himself from jumping out of the drawer and pushing the doctors away from Eddy.

The body stilled, and the man straightened out and ran a hand through his hair.

"The time was seventeen seconds before convulsion," the woman said into the camera. She let out a breath like she couldn't quite believe it. "The longest we've had. Note: Ambrosius' blood was used."

The man clicked a button on the camera and the red light went off. At once, he started dismantling the tripod.

"Woo should have let us use his blood weeks ago," the woman said, sounding exhilarated. "Imagine how far we could have come in that time."

"She wanted to make sure nothing could kill him first," the man replied. "You know that."

"Right. I'll get someone to put the body away," said the woman. "You send that recording over immediately."

Arthur wished she'd say who they were sending it to, but she didn't. He had his suspicions.

The woman breezed out of the room, leaving the man to collect his kit and follow after her.

Arthur pushed the refrigerator door open and clamored out onto the floor. His fingers and toes had gone numb, and he had to stretch them to get feeling back. Knowing he didn't have much time before the morgue attendant came in, Arthur jumped to his feet, still rubbing the chill out of his hands, and rushed towards Eddy.

The sheet over him had been left folded down and messy after his convulsion. Careful not to touch him, Arthur bent down and peered at the skin that had been pierced with the syringe. All he saw was a bloodless prick in the flesh, so he stood up straight again.

"Eddy?" he whispered hopefully, searching Eddy's face for signs of life. There was nothing. He was still as death, and Arthur couldn't wait all day for a response.

* * *

Arthur paced around his room. Lights out had been a half hour ago, but he couldn't sleep. He could still hear Eddy in his head. He sounded so lost. When he closed his eyes, he saw Eddy seizing up.

Behind him and across the glass partition, light flooded into the room, and Arthur quickly spun around to find Merlin standing in his doorway. Arthur noticed there wasn't an orderly behind him, but there were more important things to discuss than watching Merlin come up with a lie.

Merlin gaped a little, as though to say something. The only thing that fell out of him was silence, and Arthur realized Merlin's tongue wasn't so silver when he was taken off guard.

"You're awake?" Merlin asked. He slowly closed his door behind him as to not make a sound. He held his hand to the door and muttered something that Arthur couldn't hear, but he was pretty sure Merlin was locking himself in. Arthur wondered how many times he'd done that.

He didn't have time for this. There was nowhere he could go, nothing he could do, but he could feel time pressing in on him from all sides.

He charged towards the glass wall. "What's a placebo?"

Merlin turned back around and scrunched his eyebrows. "A rock band?" he answered sarcastically.

" _Mer_ lin!"

"Sorry, are you talking to me now?" Merlin paced to his mattress and plopped down on it, right under where Arthur was standing. He pulled off his shoes without unlacing them and snorted a mocking laugh. "I'll alert the media."

Arthur rubbed at his eye with his index finger to stop his headache. "Just answer the question."

"It's a substitute for a drug," Merlin snipped back. "People think they're taking the drug when they're really taking sugar pills or something. It's to see if the medication really works, or if its results are psychosomatic—uh, mind over matter. It's the power of suggestion."

Arthur's thoughts were spinning. He doubted Eleazar was giving some of its patients a placebo to test the powers of belief. Not after what they did to Eddy. His brows shot into his fringe with realization.

"Or," he began, "they don't want everyone to be cured. They want them to die."

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, looking more confused than ever. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur glanced at the camera on the wall outside his cell. Its red light pierced through the darkness. He squatted down next to Merlin and held a hand to the glass for balance, but it wouldn't hurt if whoever was on the other end of the CCTV footage thought they were making up in a tender moment.

"They have a morgue here," Arthur told him, and it didn't seem to surprise Merlin. "I snuck into it. The doctors said everyone who's died was treated with a placebo, not Fisher. I saw them inject Fisher into one of the bodies. It worked, but only for a few seconds." Arthur considered telling Merlin his blood had been used, but decided against it. "They're using the bodies for testing, yes? But for that they first need bodies. I think they're killing people on purpose, Merlin."

Merlin looked like all the air had been taken out of his room. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but said nothing. He turned away again to look down at his knees.

"You're  _sure_?" he asked, his tone horrified.

"I know what I saw." Arthur repositioned himself, trying to get more comfortable now that he had Merlin's attention. "This could be all the proof we need."

"Proof?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. Had Merlin forgotten their prime objective? "To shut Eleazar down!" he reminded him, trying to keep his voice slightly below normal volume. "It's proof that they've been lying to the world about what they're really doing here, and that they've been killing people instead of treating them."

Merlin shuffled around to face Arthur and crossed his legs in front of him. "I thought you wanted to escape."

"I  _do_. But, I told you, we're not leaving here until Eleazar is a thing of the past."

Merlin shook his head thoughtfully. "It'll be your word against theirs. Even if you saw it, you  _don't_  have proof."

Arthur bit at the inside of his mouth, trying to think. There had to be something. Then he remembered, "They recorded it!"

"What?"

"With a camera. They were sending the recordings to someone."

"Who?"

Arthur thought he had an idea. Actually, he'd convinced himself he knew the answer. "Wilt."

Merlin seemed skeptical, but maybe because he'd had less time to let the information fester. "Wilt?"

"Who else?" Arthur said, forgetting not to shout. He lowered his voice again. "Maybe that's how they keep him in the loop and show him their progress? We have to find him, Merlin. We have to get into his office somehow."

Merlin let out a deflating breath. "I don't think that's a good idea, Arthur," he said. "What do you expect to find in there?"

Arthur ground his teeth. He considered telling Merlin about the postcards, but he refrained. He was tired of Merlin shooting him down every time Wilt was concerned. " _Something_! There's got to be something to lead us to him."

Merlin thinned his lips and eyed Arthur hesitantly. "I'm just worried you've become obsessed with him."

"I'm not  _obsessed_ ," Arthur defended angrily. "This is real, Merlin, I know it. If we find Wilt, we find the recordings." Merlin didn't argue, but not because he didn't have anything to say. Quite the opposite. He was just holding his tongue. Arthur decided not to let him get a word in. "After we find out where he is, we have to get out of here. My escape plan isn't going to work, so I need to know yours."

"My what?" Merlin asked in a stunningly infuriating display of ignorance.

"Your plan! Your secret plan to get us out of here," Arthur reminded him through gritted teeth. "You said you were working on one. Was is it?"

Merlin had begun shaking his head midway through Arthur's speech, but he waited until after to say, "It's not ready yet. There's something I've got to finish first."

"What?" Arthur inquired, half annoyed and half hopeful.

Merlin only stared at him, keeping his mouth closed and his eyes distant.

Arthur laughed bitterly. He rested his forehead on the back of his hand on the glass and shook it. His head felt like it was about to cave into itself. Collecting himself, he came back up. " _Why_  won't you tell me?"

"You'll . . . just have to trust me," Merlin told him.

Arthur's face went blank. Merlin was asking too much. "Not as far as I can throw you," he said finally, his voice dry.

Merlin didn't react, at least, not on the outside. He kept Arthur's gaze.

"These things take time," Merlin said after a pause. "You have to be patient."

Arthur bared his teeth, feeling a spike of heat. "I'm  _not_  patient, Merlin!"

"Well, neither am I!" Merlin shouted back, his eyes flashing but not in gold. "But we're going to have to be!"

Arthur's eyes flickered to the camera. So much for tricking the viewer. He just hoped they hadn't installed a microphone in it. Every time he considered that possibility, his stomach sank. Maybe it was best not to discuss an escape plan there.

"Fine," Arthur conceded. He rolled his hand into a fist and took it off the glass. "Do whatever you have to do. Have it done by tomorrow afternoon. I want to hear this plan of yours at lunch, have you got it?"

"What if Woo keeps me?" Merlin dared to ask, and Arthur tried very hard not to lose his temper.

"Merlin," he said warningly. He pinched the bridge of his nose. That damn headache was perpetual. "Just . . . just be there."

Arthur stood up again and looked down at Merlin, who titled his head up to keep Arthur's gaze. "And it better be your  _real_  plan, Merlin," he ordered. "Not something you've made up over night."

He was aware of Merlin's eyes fixed on him as he made for his mattress. When he got there, Arthur lied down on his back and stared up at the dark ceiling. He could feel the postcards beneath his head. After some time, he heard Merlin shuffle and lay down, too. And then there was ringing silence.

"I would have thought you'd have the patience of a saint," Arthur told the ceiling.

At first, he didn't think Merlin would answer, but then he heard, "You'd be wrong."


	13. Chapter 13

The canteen was almost dead. Three or four pale-looking patients sat alone, situated sporadically at the tables. Two small clusters had formed as well, in which the occupants were in muttered, lethargic conversation. Arthur caught sight of Merlin sitting at a long empty table in the middle of the room. Merlin looked up and locked eyes with him.

Arthur wasn't feeling very hungry. His migraine had kept him up most of the night, no matter how much he tried to rub it from his temples or neck. Thankfully, it had broken that morning after Scott administered him another dose of Fisher. But it left a queasy sort of sensation in Arthur's stomach, and he didn't know if it was caused by the toxins left over from his headache, the drug, or what he'd seen the drug do to Eddy.

For show, he picked up a tray from one of the buffet tables and scooped up a serving size of crusted over pasta. The buffet had gotten smaller since less patients started showing up. Only two tables were now open, and the food was usually old. The serving stations along the wall were dark and empty, closed for business.

Arthur took his tray and sat across from Merlin.

"Are you going to tell me the big secret now?" Arthur asked in hushed tones. He looked down at the food in front of him and pushed it around with distaste.

"It's the prisoners," Merlin came right out with it. It made Arthur look up with interest. Merlin folded his arms on the table in front of him, pushing back his own tray in the process, and leaned forward. "They're more likely to be swayed against Eleazar. After the Cleansing and orientation, if there were patients who still didn't comply, they were put in with the prisoners."

Arthur's mouth hung open. He'd been right. More than that, he'd been counting on it. "The  _prisoners_ ," he repeated like that was the only thing he'd heard.

"Yeah," said Merlin. "Where'd you think I got that condom? Just had to trade them some Mars Bars from our canteen. Don't ask me where they got it, though. They always have their ways—"

"That was  _my_  plan," Arthur cut him off, sounded offended. " _You_  shot it down. You can't just call my plan stupid and then steal it."

"I didn't steal it," Merlin said with an eye roll. "I had it first."

Arthur gritted his teeth and held up his hands tensely like he was about to reach over the table and strangle Merlin. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you would have gone in guns blazing. It needed to be more planned out," Merlin said bluntly. "You didn't have all the information."

After a scoff and an incredulous shake of his head, Arthur asked, "And what  _is_  all the information?"

"The non-compliant patients are constantly whispering in the inmate's ears, trying to turn them against Eleazar, too," Merlin told him. "The people over the south gate are more informed about what really goes on here than anyone else."

Arthur shook his head again, this time in question. "Why doesn't anyone on the outside know this? Former patients would say something after the experimentation period was up, wouldn't they?"

"You said Eleazar was picking and choosing who they gave their cure to," Merlin theorized. "Maybe there's no one left to tell the story."

Arthur narrowed his eyes, sizing Merlin up. "How do  _you_  know this?"

"I've been there," Merlin said. "I've snuck in and talked to them a few times."

Arthur realized that must have been where Merlin really was every time he said he was with Woo. "The riots," he remembered. "You incited them?" He would have been proud if he weren't so pissed off.

"They were my idea," Merlin said blandly. "I was only doing what you would have done." He scanned Arthur's face like he was looking for approval before continuing, "We're working up to a big one—one that will tear down the south gate and lead them here. We'd be able to escape in the chaos; so would they. That was our deal, that we  _all_  get out. They're ready for it. They're just waiting for my word."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Arthur demanded. He could have helped. He was a king, after all. Inspiring soldiers to battle was sort of his forte.

"Like I said, you'd want it to happen immediately," Merlin said. "And it can't happen yet."

"Why  _not_?"

Merlin leaned back in his chair, jutted out his lips, and shrugged casually. "I told you, there's something I have to finish first."

Arthur waited for Merlin continue, to reveal whatever other part of the plan he had up his sleeve. When Merlin said nothing, Arthur probed in frustration, "Which is?"

Merlin exhaled deeply through his nose as he surveyed Arthur. His expression wasn't distant this time. He looked properly pained as he said, "I can't tell you."

Arthur tried to get a good read on Merlin. Merlin gave nothing away.

"Fine," Arthur said, accepting it solely because he didn't have a choice in the matter. He was so exhausted, and it made his anger subside into sadness. He thought he'd rather have Merlin lie to him. That was somehow easier than Merlin implying he couldn't trust him with something. Arthur supposed he should have seen that coming.

"No, actually, it's not fine. There are times when I hate you," the bitterness made Arthur say, and he realized at once it wasn't true.

Merlin must have known it, too, because he said, "Good. Then we're even."

Arthur went back to playing with his food. "When will you be done with whatever it is you're doing?"

"Soon. Give me a few days."

"That's all you  _can_  get," Arthur ordered. "We have less than three weeks before the trial is over, and then we'll lose our shot. You'd better hurry up."

In his peripherals, he saw Merlin nod dutifully.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Merlin thinned his lips, appearing thoughtful. Suddenly, his serious demeanor dropped. "Did you know there's a  _book club_  here?" he asked lightly. He shook his head and puckered his lips to the side. Arthur sighed and looked down at his food. "Want to know what they're reading?" Arthur really didn't, but Merlin answered anyway. " _Frankenstein_! I thought that was a little on the nose."

Speaking of noses, Arthur wrinkled his. " _Why_?"

Merlin scoffed. "Because it's about a mad scientist who makes a monster out of dead body parts and brings it to life . . . It's actually a good read." He dismissed the idea with a wave of his fork. "You'd hate it."

Arthur rubbed at his eyes. He was starting to get tired. It was the kind of exhaustion that made him feel like he was a step out sync with reality. He felt like he wasn't actually in his body, but floating somewhere next to it.

"You'd probably like  _Young Frankenstein_ , though," Merlin went on breezily. "It's a film. I should download it once we get back home. It's a little ridiculous. You might like it."

Arthur glanced up at the clock on the far wall.

_13:07_.

"But the book club," Merlin said, getting back on track. "People are treating this like a holiday." He pulled a disgruntled face and looked around at the almost empty canteen. "Or at least they were . . ."

Arthur zoned out. He didn't expect he'd miss anything important. Merlin was just prattling on again, as usual.

He stared down at his food, not really seeing it. He was aware of his fork digging into the macaroni, and he realized that somewhere along the line he'd stop pushing the food around his plate in favor of staying perfectly still. He could feel the utensil resting between his fingers, just as he felt the chair he was sitting in and floor under the soles of his shoes. But he was only  _just_  conscious of them on the peripherals on his mind. It felt like he wasn't touching them at all, but could only sense their presence nearby.

He didn't focus on correcting the numbness or shaking himself back into the world. His mind fell blank. He didn't even blink, not even when his eyes dried and a fuzzy haze ebbed into his vision on all sides.

"Arthur . . ."

The fork has somehow fallen out of his hand. He didn't remember that happening. He didn't remember the clatter it would have made when hitting the table.

"Arthur!"

Arthur snapped awake. Everything flooded back to him: light, sound, touch. And smell. Something foul was wafting towards him, but he couldn't pinpoint from where.

Merlin was giving him a curious look, more observant than worried. He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "Did you hear a word I just said?"

Arthur blinked a few times, trying to return moisture to his eyes, but the fuzziness wouldn't go away. He looked back up at the clock.

_13:18._

Where had all that time gone?

"No," Arthur answered slowly, bringing his attention back to Merlin. "I wasn't listening."

That smell was getting stronger. It was rank and lingering, and it burned at Arthur's nostrils.

Merlin let out an annoyed snort. "Thanks for that. Good to know you're paying attention," he shouted far louder than he should have. Arthur scanned the room with a twinge of embarrassment, wondering if Merlin had caught anyone's attention, but no one had swiveled their necks in their direction.

They seemed too busy with their own conversations. The words were indistinct, but the murmurs of the other patients bounced off the walls and buzzed in Arthur's ears. He ignored it. He was too focused on the fuzziness.

He rubbed his eyes hard, hoping it would go away.

"Stop yelling," he hissed at Merlin.

"I'm not yelling," Merlin yelled.

Arthur removed his hand from his eyes and, once the blackness faded, the cloudiness only got worse.

"I'm just saying. It would be nice if—"

"God,  _what_  is that?" Arthur cut him off. He clasped his hand over his nose. The stench was starting to make his head hurt again.

Merlin straightened out. "What?"

"It's rotting meat!" Arthur exclaimed surely. He looked over his shoulder at the kitchen. "So much for the quality of the food!"

When he turned back, Merlin was giving him a very severe look, one of controlled panic.

"Arthur," he whispered, but it blared through Arthur's head.

Arthur wanted to respond, but all his senses were overloading, filling him to the brim. He forgot English altogether.

"Arthur, wut ar yoo fealng?"

Merlin appeared to be vibrating, or rather like he was stationary and Arthur was watching him while experiencing his own private earthquake.

Arthur blinked rapidly, trying to make it go away—

He was on the floor. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten there, or why Merlin was cradling his head in his lap in an all too familiar position. Merlin must have leapt over the table to get to him: the trays of food and Arthur's chair were overturned.

Arthur felt his heart pumping rapidly in his chest to combat his confusion. The haze was gone when he looked around, finally to meet Merlin's eyes, large and more terrified than Arthur had ever seen them. The smell was gone, too, replaced by a taste. It was like iron.

" _Beth ddigwyddodd_?" Arthur croaked out. He tried to sit up, but his spine gave a sharp, immediate protest. He howled at the sudden unexpected pain, and it mixed with Merlin's hushes of, "Just rest. Rest. You're fine; you're fine . . ."

He seemed to be chanting it like a prayer.

The other patients had gathered around their table, looking on with perplexity and, in some cases, concern. At least their mutterings had faded back into whispers.

Merlin sniffled, seeming to collect himself. "Here, come on," he said. He slid his hands under Arthur's shoulders, trying to gently guide him to lie on his side. Arthur did his best to help, but it caused more pain in his back, like the small movement was snapping bone.

"Merlin,  _what happened_?" Arthur demanded into a grunt once he was on his side. Merlin was still holding him, and gazing downward like the most fragile thing in the world was resting on his knees.

"You had a fit," Merlin told him, probably with more emotion than he'd intended. He could never master the cold professionalism of a physician when he dealt with Arthur.

Arthur tried to shake his head, but he only managed a grimace and small movements. "I don't understand. What—what—?"

Merlin suddenly looked up. Arthur followed his line of sight. The patients were parting, making way for Dr. Scott and two young orderlies, one of which pushed a wheelchair.

"No," Merlin told them instantly and viciously. He wrapped his arms tighter around Arthur, protective and defiant. "You're not taking him anywhere."

Scott stopped in front of them. He held his palms up to show he meant no harm, but he wouldn't move until Merlin gave him permission.

"I know what happened. It was captured on the CCTV," he said, crouching down slowly. "He's my patient, Merlin. I need to help him."

Merlin shook his head so quickly that Arthur thought his vision was blurring again.

"You did this to him."

His voice was calm, and his expression solid. But his eyes were what struck Arthur the most: cold and dead, lacking any luster Arthur knew from the Merlin of Camelot. Arthur had gotten used to those eyes recently, but there was something different about them now. There was something ferocious in Merlin's stare, like he was ready to kill. Arthur had only seen this expression twice before: when he was dying and Merlin killed two Saxon soldiers and Arthur watched from his horse, and when he killed Morgana. He didn't like the expression then; he didn't like it now.

"Merlin, it's alright," Arthur assured him softly in attempt to tame whatever malice was dulling Merlin's expression. He reached up and grasped the back on Merlin's head, gripping at the black hairs and tilting his head downward so he was the only thing Merlin could see.

Merlin blinked, and his eyes softened. They became more alert and attentive, like he was ready to immediately act on any command Arthur gave.

It made Arthur chuckle shallowly. If only he'd seen that look when Merlin was his servant. Maybe he wouldn't have been so terrible at the job.

"Scott will help me," Arthur said, even though he wasn't sure he believed it anymore. He wanted to. He wanted Scott to be an honorable man. In that moment, he didn't have much choice other than to trust him.

It seemed to go against Merlin's every judgment, but he eventually nodded in respect for Arthur's wishes. He looked up at Scott, silently giving him the okay.

The two orderlies stepped forward and knelt down at Arthur's side. They slowly helped him sit up, which Arthur was grateful for. His back was still stiff, but at least it wasn't throbbing anymore.

"Can you stand up?" Scott asked patiently.

Arthur nodded determinedly. "Of course," he said, trying to lighten the situation. He hated that everyone's eyes were on him in a moment of weakness. He tried not to look too shamefaced. "My sister taught me how when I was a baby."

It was one good memory of Morgana, at least, even though Arthur could only recall the stories rather than the actual event. She always used to beam with pride whenever the tale was brought up, and she would gaze at him like he was still that child. He wished he hadn't always rolled his eyes at her to make up for his embarrassment.

Scott smiled politely in response, and the orderlies helped Arthur up. He didn't want them to, but his legs wobbled slightly beneath him at first. He felt Merlin's palms on his back, too, and had to bite his tongue as to not scold him. He kept his eyes away from the onlookers.

"See? Fine," he said proudly, shaking the orderlies off of him. He really wished his legs would stay still. "I won't be needing that," he said, indicating the wheelchair.

Scott rolled it closer and grinned pleasantly. "I insist," he said.

Arthur's face dropped. He looked behind him at Merlin, who appeared to be trying hard not to jump in. He was silently begging Arthur not to exert himself—but, really, standing still should not have been so hard.

Giving in, Arthur paced as quickly as he could manage to the chair and plopped down in it. Scott unlocked the wheels and positioned himself at the back while the orderlies worked on dispersing the onlookers.

Merlin appeared at his side. "I'll be right behind you," he promised sheepishly, probably more for his own peace of mind than Arthur's. But Arthur nodded thankfully in response. He grabbed Merlin's hand and kissed his marked wrist.

"I'm fine, Merlin," he said, even though he didn't feel it. "Don't be such a girl."

Scott pushed him forward, headed towards the canteen exit. Arthur didn't look back to see if Merlin was following. He was just glad for the private moment, when no one was watching his every move like an animal behind the glass at a zoo.

He closed his eyes, searching for the thumping of his heart. It was steady now, and he realized his breathing had caught up to him. He tried to control his nerves, too. He gripped onto his legs so he couldn't fold his hands worriedly before his lips.

But he  _was_  worried.

He remembered his headaches, the tremors in his hands, every time his limbs felt like they were on pins and needles, every time his muscles felt weak, every time he zoned out . . .

He glanced out of the corner of his eyes, attempting to surreptitiously look behind him at Scott as they rolled through the corridor. He saw nothing but the white walls reeling by.

Scott wasn't an honorable man. He was not on Arthur's side. Merlin was right: whatever had just happened, it was because of Fisher. And Arthur had just let Scott wheel him away for more.

* * *

Arthur finally got his window.

It came with a hospital bed that allowed him to adjust its position by a press of a button on a control pad. The controller also worked as a remote for the flat screen television mounted on the wall, and to open and close the blinds on the window.

The blinds usually remained shut, because the sunlight, even when behind the clouds, hurt his head. And the telly was used for background noise until Arthur couldn't take it any more and had to turn it off. But at least the walls weren't so white in the dormitories as they had been in the main building. They had paintings and generic framed pictures decorating what otherwise would be a vacuum.

Arthur had been there for a few days, taken there from the MRI scan he was subjected to do after his episode in the canteen. He was mostly going stir crazy. His meals were brought to his room and he didn't have a roommate. He barely heard anyone milling around the corridors, except for the occasional nurse wheeling a patient. Instead of Arthur going to an examination room, Scott would come to him. Arthur was beginning to think he had more freedom while in a glass cell.

At least he wasn't being given Fisher anymore. Scott wanted to hold off administration until he knew the reason for Arthur's fit. He kept promising Arthur the MRI results would be back from their labs any day now. Arthur wished they would just hurry up. If he were going to die again, he'd just like to know and get it over with.

That was until he remembered Merlin's face as he was cradling him in the canteen. Arthur was only scared about the MRI results when he considered Merlin, who he hadn't seen since that day. He was constantly demanding to see him to anyone who entered his room—Scott, the nurses, the orderlies. He was only given empty, placating promises in return.

Some nights, he found himself blaming Merlin for not finding a way to get to Arthur. He wondered what secret excursion was keeping him away this time.

There was a rapping of knuckles on the door. Arthur recognized their beat. He didn't have to look to know Scott was entering the room with his usual friendly smile and kindly twinkling eyes and now reminded Arthur of a Guy Fawkes mask. Arthur only returned his gaze when Scott approached his bedside.

"Any headaches today?" Scott asked, and Arthur shook his head. There was a soft, dull pounding in the back of his mind, but it was hardly worth mentioning. "Good, good," said Scott. He had his tablet in his hands, but he didn't look down at it. Instead, he crossed his arms and hugged it to his chest.

"The results of your MRI scan came back today," he said, really catching Arthur's attention now. "I have good news and bad news, I'm afraid."

Suddenly sure that he was going to die in that room, Arthur asked in a resigned tone, "What is it?"

"The bad news is, you have swelling in parts of your brain. You've been experiencing its side effects," Scott explained, and Arthur tried to picture it. Had his brain expanded like a balloon?

"Because of Fisher?" He already knew the answer.

Scott, however, seemed more hesitant. "That could very well be, but we've never seen this reaction in the past," he said.

Arthur tried not to roll his eyes. "What's the good news?" he sighed.

"We can bring down the swelling," Scott told him. "There are a few options to do that, but since we don't know the cause of the inflammation for sure, the preference is surgery."

Arthur jerked his head back in surprise. "Surgery?" he repeated incredulously. He didn't want Eleazar drilling a hole in his skull. He was sick; he wasn't insane.

"It's a simple procedure, I assure you," said Scott, seeming to understand Arthur's worry. "I will be assisting the team, if it makes you feel any better." It really didn't. "But we need to do it right away, before your condition gets any worse. I recommend doing it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Arthur gaped. It didn't give him time to consider his options. Scott wanted an answer immediately. Arthur shook his head. "Not until I talk to Merlin."

Scott dropped his shoulders in a sigh. "You know how he feels about Eleazar. He will advise—"

"I don't care if you say he'll tell me not to do it," Arthur yelled. "But I'd like to hear  _him_  say it. I won't decide until I talk to him."

"Arthur, as your doctor—," Scott tried.

"Merlin's my doctor."

There was a heavy pause, but Scott appeared to accept it. "I'll speak with Dr. Woo about bringing him here," he said. Arthur looked towards the closed window and waited for Scott to leave.

* * *

Every television program was complete garbage. Arthur was looking for something to watch when he landed on a title that he was sure had something to do with  _1984_. However, it was just ordinary people living in a house and doing inappropriate things with one another and then being interviewed about it. Arthur wondered why anyone would want to watch something so ridiculous. He was going to turn it off, but then Jessica found out that Paul had slept with Denise, and Graham had eaten the last of the food rations and was now being ostracized by the other housemates.

"Are you watching  _Big Brother_?" came Merlin's voice from the doorway.

It made Arthur jump. He scrambled with the controller resting in his hand and turned the telly off. "No," he said in what he hoped to be a casual tone.

Merlin was silently chortling with rumbling shoulders as he walked further into the room and plopped himself down on the side of Arthur's mattress.

"Where the hell have you been?" Arthur demanded, not returning his grin.

Merlin scoffed in annoyance. "Locked up in my lonely glass room, mostly," he said. "Woo's seemed to have lost interest in me. Now she only wants to take blood samples."

Arthur remembered the scientists in the morgue. They had said Woo wanted to make sure nothing could kill Merlin before his blood was used on a subject. Perhaps she'd been satisfied. It made him feel a little better knowing Merlin wasn't being put through anything so invasive anymore.

"Have they told you about what they want to do with me?" Arthur asked.

"Woo just said you wanted to talk to me." Merlin tilted his head to the side in an observing way. "What's happened?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur admitted. "Something about my brain swelling."

Merlin dragged his tongue across his lower lip thoughtfully and shook his head. "I told you to make them stop giving you Fisher," he said, more concerned than smug about being right.

"You're not being very helpful," Arthur scolded. "Scott said he wanted to perform surgery—tomorrow."

Merlin didn't seem very surprised.

"There's got to be another way." Scott said there were options. Arthur hoped Merlin would elaborate on what that meant.

"Did he say there was any bleeding?" Merlin wondered.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

Arthur snorted. "I think I'd remember him telling me if I was internally bleeding,  _Mer_ lin. Why? Does that make a difference?"

Merlin tapped his fingers against his knees, obviously resisting the urge to get up and pace. Arthur had a feeling a plan was formulating behind Merlin's eyes.

"There's medication that can bring down the inflammation," Merlin said.

Arthur's brows darted up. "Great! I'll do that!"

Merlin laughed. It was a bitter sort of chuckle. "And deny them the opportunity of getting inside your head? They could finally find the answers to all their problems. No. Scott will push for surgery."

"Then can't you just fix me?" Arthur hoped.

"I wish I could," Merlin said genuinely. "But this is inside of you. It goes beyond magic."

"Then what good are you?" Arthur looked down at his lap, hoping a better way would be written on the blankets. There wasn't. "So, I have no choice?" he said, trying to accept it. He remembered some of the poor men and women in Camelot's lower town that Gaius had tried to treat with brain surgery. Most of them died, and those who didn't lived their lives with holes in their heads. They used to scare him when he was child. He wondered if it hurt.

"Have you ever had to drill into someone's head?" he asked.

Merlin smirked downward. "It's not like that. And you probably won't be awake for it. They'll put you to sleep."

Somehow, that only made Arthur feel worse.

"For how long?"

"It depends on how the surgery goes," said Merlin. "It'll probably just be a few hours, but it could be longer."

"It could be infinite," Arthur joked. It wasn't really a joke. His stomach turned.

Merlin's expression dropped. It reminded Arthur a little of the look he wore in the canteen, only toned back. "I won't let that happen."

"Pardon me for being skeptical after what happened the last time you promised me that," Arthur droned.

It made Merlin laugh under his breath and mutter, "Dick."

Arthur was smiling brightly at him, but it faded when he realized he was having what could be his final discussion with Merlin. He wondered why fate had brought him back to this time, and if he'd somehow let it down. After all, he didn't fight in any large wars or take town a heinous dictator. The title of  _Once and Future King_  didn't exactly fit. Maybe he wasn't going to die, after all. Maybe he still had more to do, and there was more to come.

Or maybe destiny was a crock of shit and Merlin had no idea what he was talking about.

But, if this was the last time he'd see Merlin, he wanted everything laid out on the table. "Merlin?" he began softly, making Merlin look at him out of the corners of his eyes. "What have you been hiding from me?"

Merlin looked away again. "Arthur," he told his lap, but he didn't follow it up with anything. Arthur watched his profile for a long time, studying Merlin's lips as they parted infinitesimally again and again with unspoken words.

Finally, Arthur leaned back against his mattress in resignation. "You're not going to say," he deciphered, feeling a spike of aggravation. But mostly, he was disappointed.

"I want to," Merlin said, but Arthur didn't believe him. His irritation was turning into anger.

"It's like you  _enjoy_  lying," Arthur spat. He turned his head away from Merlin. He didn't want to see his face anymore.

"I  _don't_ ," Merlin asserted, his voice as deep as a roar.

"You're not fooling anyone!"

"Arthur—!"

Arthur kept his eyes on the floor, making sure not to waver. It was strange, but it wasn't even the lies that mattered. Arthur supposed enough people had betrayed him in his life, so he was used to shelving that pain. But Merlin hadn't been like them. He hadn't lied to betray or harm. He did it to protect, even if he suffered because of it.

And he never said a word.

Arthur crumbled under that thought. He dropped his stern demeanor and ran a tired hand through his hair. "Why don't you trust me?" he asked. He'd wanted to ask it for a long time.

He didn't look back at Merlin, but he could feel Merlin's stare on him, contemplative and not as distant as it had been in the recent months. It burned into Arthur's cheek like fire.

"I do," Merlin said at last, and his voice was so low he couldn't have been anything but genuine.

But Arthur wasn't done. Now that the conversation had been opened up, words poured from him like waves through a broken floodgate.

"I  _always_  trusted you—more than anyone." He scoffed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "I don't know, maybe I shouldn't have."

"Don't say that," said Merlin, even though he knew Arthur didn't mean it.

"Obviously, you never felt the same way."

"It was delicate," Merlin said carefully.

"And now?" Arthur said in a near-shout. "It is delicate now, Merlin? Whatever it is you're not telling me?"

"I was  _trying_  to get us out of here!" Merlin argued, matching his tone. "That's all!"

"And I could have helped!"

Merlin must have not had an answer, because all he did was stare piercingly at Arthur. But he softened after a while and broke the gaze. He sighed, and looked down to his lap.

"You just have to start filling me in," Arthur said, all the frustration draining from him. All these years, and he still couldn't be angry when Merlin was sad. "That's all I ask."

"I know," was the answer. "I'm just . . . used to it, I suppose."

"Well, this isn't like old times. I know everything now. I—"

"It's not just  _you_ , Arthur," Merlin cut him off. It surprised Arthur somewhat, not because he was interrupted but because Merlin was actually  _saying something_. He wasn't just  _talking_. Arthur made sure to listen. "I've been so used to hiding in secret for so long. New names, new identities, new places. I can't remember the last time I really knew someone; and I don't think anyone ever knew me."

" _I_  do," Arthur tried.

"No, you don't! You  _don't_." Merlin kept his eye downcast and his head ducked. Arthur really wished he could see his face. "There are things you don't know, and I haven't told you because I don't want to think about them. I've been kept here for such a long time, and after you—," he came to a halt. He had to word this delicately, more for his sake than Arthur's. "You're mortal. I don't know what's going to happen when you die again."

He upturned his palms and stared at them, like he could see the magic flowing through his veins: thicker than blood.

Arthur had never considered that before. He just assumed Merlin would be coming with him this time. He'd always expected Merlin to follow him; he just didn't know how to articulate it. So, instead, he said, "Well, that may be sooner rather than later if we don't work together. Trust me, I've been close to death before. I know what its approach feels like."

It felt like a thousand eyes on you, holding their breath and waiting for you to step off the ledge.

"I know its scent, too, Arthur," Merlin said. He looked up, pushing a dim smile onto his lips. It looked more like a grimace. "Just not for the same reason."

Arthur ignored the faux-grin and searched Merlin's features.

"Have you ever wished you could die?" he wondered aloud. He didn't know when he'd next get the chance. Merlin could push away at any moment, but Arthur decided to test his luck.

The grimace fell, and Merlin looked back down. He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe," he said into a deep breath. "I probably never meant it."

"Why not?"

"Well, there's quite a lot to do, isn't there?" he answered like it was obvious. "You've seen how big the world's gotten, even if people call it small. You'd think I'd have done everything by now, but there's always something else. And some things I was saving to do with you. I had a list of places I wanted to take you once. I think I lost it."

Arthur wrinkled his nose, trying to make heads or tails of what Merlin was saying. "What sort of  _things_?"

Merlin stammered, trying to fathom ideas into words. "Like—like—getting lost in cities and swimming in oceans. Seeing the world's biggest ball of string. And eating new food— _lots_  of new food. And sometimes not doing anything at all. Just pushing the world out and watching bad telly for days on end—wasting time and sleeping in. And then, when you've had you're fill of that, getting back out there with people, even if they can't really see you. Just learning snippets of their stories."

Merlin chuckled, a real chuckle, like Arthur remembered from Camelot. It sounded like music.

"You know, over a thousand years, and I have never heard two people with the exact same story?"

Arthur sat up a little straighter against mattress. "I suppose it's too much to ask for your story," he said in a drawl tone. Merlin didn't answer, so Arthur shook his head in acceptance. "Fine. Someone else's, then. Do you have a favorite?"

Merlin nodded in nostalgia. "Yeah," he said. "It wasn't too long ago—relatively speaking. It was the early eighteen hundreds. I met this man from Greece. He was a trader, went all over. But he didn't have a big boat and a crew like other merchants did. He had this tiny thing." Merlin shook his head at the memory. "Hardly enough space for one man, never mind a crew. And he would sail it all over the world. Britain to Singapore to Cape Town—even all the way across the Atlantic. Just him.

"And, he told me, once, he was in the middle of a hurricane. There was no turning back; he was in the middle of the ocean. Waves as tall as mountains, he said. Rain as hard as bullets. He didn't think his ship would hold. And he saw another vessel headed towards him—a big one, fully manned. He made for it, hoping for some shelter. But, when he got there, the captain said he didn't trust his ship. It was new and commissioned. It wasn't his. He said it would sink. He said the crew would die."

As he spoke, his voice turned more passionate but his eyes became distant. Arthur couldn't help but get a little enraptured. Arthur always loved Merlin's stories, even though he'd never admit it. Maybe it was the way Merlin told them, the way his voice would lull Arthur into his imagination where he could picture everything he was told.

"So, this sailor invited the captain and his men—half a dozen of them—onto his tiny boat," Merlin continued. "They battered down the hatches together and waited out the storm for four days. On each of those days, he would go out onto the deck to see how his ship was fairing. He didn't have much hope himself, but every time he would go back inside and tell the other men that everything was fine. He told them not to worry, the storm would be over soon and they were all going to make it.

"And I asked him, why? Why wouldn't he tell them they were still in danger? And he said, 'Because they were my responsibility. It was my job to look after them, and it was no use in all of us worrying. If they were to die, they would die in bliss, not full of fear like me. They were to die with hope.'"

As Merlin finished the story, Arthur narrowed his eyes and watched him intently. The tale hit too close to home, and Arthur wondered if Merlin was weaving it himself. He didn't love it any less, but he wrinkled his nose and knitted his brow together. "Did you just make that up?"

Merlin scoffed, sounding tearful. When he peered back up at Arthur, his eyes were rimmed with red. "Trust me, Arthur," he asked of him. "Do you?"

At first, Arthur didn't know how to respond. He hated knowing there was something Merlin was keeping from him. He didn't care about dying without hope, as long as it softened the weight on Merlin's shoulders. But he found himself nodding.

Merlin sniffed and looked down again.

"That sailor was a better man than me," he said sadly.

"Why would you say that?" Arthur demanded.

"Because, even with the little hope he had, he waited. He held out."

"So did you," Arthur reminded him. "Much longer than four days."

Merlin brought his fingers to his lips and chewed thoughtfully at his nails. He continued to stare blankly down. Arthur couldn't get a good read on him. He thought the cold distance was hard to decipher, but the vulnerability was worse.

"Merlin?" he said, as though asking for confirmation.

"Yeah," Merlin choked out. He tried to hide it, but Arthur saw him swat away a few tears from his cheeks.

"Merlin," Arthur said again. He leaned towards him and slapped a firm hand on Merlin's knee. "Somehow, we're getting home after all this is said and done," he told him like he could promise such things. "After that, you don't have to be brave anymore. Leave that to me."

Merlin laughed again, but it sounded thick this time. "Prat."

"Idiot," Arthur said with a grin.

Merlin stood up from the bed, but he hovered next to it. "I'll see you tomorrow," he swore.

"Maybe I'll see you, too," Arthur said lightly with a roll of his eyes. He tried not to think about how dark and freezing it had been in the morgue drawer.

"You will," said Merlin, nodding. "I'm going to protect you."

Arthur glanced up at him out of the corners of his eyes, and eventually thinned his lips and nodded in return. Merlin wasn't one of his knights. Arthur didn't have the heart to give him unfortunate truths, even though he was certain Merlin knew them tenfold.

Merlin bent down and kissed Arthur's hairline like it could cure the ailment. "Tomorrow," he said again.

"Tomorrow," Arthur repeated, because that sailor had been right: giving hope was better than inflicting fear.


	14. Chapter 14

Arthur was moved back into the main building. He was in a room he'd never been in before. It looked somewhat like his room in the dormitories, but much barer. There was no window, for one thing, and there was no bedside table, paintings, or a telly. It was just a hospital bed in a white room. There was an IV, too. Arthur glared at it unsurely out of the corner of his eye as it stood next to his bed.

He assumed they weren't going to perform the surgery in that room. More machines were needed for brain surgery, weren't they? He would probably never see the surgery room in a conscious state, and that was probably supposed to make him feel better. No one wants to see the big, scary room in which they're to be cut open. However, Arthur would have preferred it. He wanted to see all the tools, to know Eleazar couldn't hide anything else from him.

Maybe he could cut them open, too.

The door clicked open, and Scott walked through with Gloria in tow. As usual, she did not speak. She simply ducked her head and moved straight towards the IV, which she began fiddling with.

Scott came to Arthur's side, smiling amicably. It enraged Arthur like it had on their first meeting.

"How are you feeling, Arthur?" Scott asked, placing a solid hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Nervous?"

Arthur glowered down at Scott's hand as his skin tensed against the contact. He shifted to move away from it. "No," he said shortly. It was a lie.

"Excellent," Scott said, seeming to buy it. "There's no reason to be."

Gloria lifted up the tube of the IV and secured a needle to the end of it. She reached for Arthur's arm, and he had to make a conscious effort not to rip it back away. She ran a cotton ball, with something wet and cold on it, across his skin and gently pushed the needle into a blue vein. As she was taping it down, her hand slipped and she gave a sharp gasp. Arthur almost retracted because of it, but he instead wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow at her.

She glanced directly up at him and held his gaze for a long time. Her expression was blank and her eyes lifeless. He didn't know what to make of it.

"This is an anesthetic," he realized Scott was saying. Arthur tore his attention away from Gloria to Scott, and the first thing he noticed was the syringe and vial of clear liquid in the doctor's hands. "It'll put you to sleep and, when you wake up, we'll have you all sorted out."

"Good," Arthur said as he tried to steel himself. He suddenly wasn't so sure about this anymore. He didn't want Scott giving him another injection, and he certainly didn't want to be asleep while the doctors did god knows what to his head. He didn't want to die. He'd missed so much the last time. Merlin said he'd saved plans for the both of them, and Arthur didn't want to miss a single one of them.

He watched the vial and needle being passed over him as Scott handed it to Gloria. She filled the syringe with the anesthetic without a word and brought the needle towards the IV tube.

"Don't you worry about a thing, Arthur," Scott said, causing Arthur to make eye contact again. He already felt a little drowsy, but maybe he was just imagining it. "Could you count backwards from one hundred for me?"

"One hundred," Arthur began.

Scott nodded in encouragement,

"Ninety-nine . . ."

Gloria walked away from the IV and crossed to the end of the bed.

"Ninety-eight . . ."

Arthur's heart was pounding in his throat with a growing sense of dread.

"Ninety-seven . . ."

Gloria was at Scott's side.

"Ninety-six . . . ninety-five . . ."

Arthur would have missed it if he blinked. Gloria had jabbed the still-full syringe in Scott's neck and pushed down on the stopper. Scott let out a cry in shock, and his hands instinctually flew towards the point of assault.

But his limbs soon went limp, causing him to fall into Gloria. She was ready for it, and she guided him towards the floor, not very gently. She tossed the needle down apathetically. It landed on Scott's chest.

Arthur didn't realize how wide his eyes were until Gloria faced him.

"We don't have much time," she told him in a hurried voice. As she spoke, she reached over him and took the IV out of his arm. "We're getting out of here now, Arthur. Meet me by the building's exit. Go now."

Arthur rattled his head, trying to figure out when she'd started talking in full sentences.

"What do you mean—?"

"We don't have time for questions, you prat!"

Arthur's mouth dropped open.

" _Merlin_?"

Merlin rolled Gloria's eyes. "No, Elvis," he said with her voice.

It was Merlin, alright.

"Run, Arthur."

Before Arthur could ask a question they apparently didn't have time for, Gloria gasped again, and her eyes sparkled gold. When the color faded, she dropped to the floor next to Scott.

Arthur blinked a few times, trying to recover. When he did, he sprang out of bed and swooped down at Scott's side. Arthur hurriedly fished for his mother's ring in the pocket of Scott's lab coat. He quickly located it and slipped it back on. Then, he jumped over the two unconscious forms and tore the door back. He ran in the direction he'd come from when he was brought into the room.

Every CCTV camera he raced by was off, its red light dead. The corridors were empty and silent, all but for the pounding of his trainers against the tile. He thought the echo might give him away.

He rushed into a connecting hallway, only to be knocked into by something hard and moving fast. Arthur didn't let out a yelp, even though his toe had been stepped on, but Merlin did as he backpedalled.

"Merlin!" Arthur cried once he realized who it was.

"We have to move," Merlin told him, evidently too single-minded to moan about his minor injuries at the moment. He started down the hallway again, but Arthur grabbed him by the arm and spun him back around.

"Wait, where's Woo?"

"I took care of her," Merlin said vaguely. "But she'll be after us any second. Come on!"

Arthur didn't follow him. He wasn't going towards the exit, not yet.

"We have to go to Wilt's office first," he said, making Merlin stop dead again. When he turned around, he looked panicked.

"Arthur, we have to  _go_ ," he stressed urgently.

Arthur shook his head. "I'm not leaving without proof," he said with determination. "We're not far from it."

"Arthur—"

"We're going." Arthur grabbed Merlin by the wrist and dragged him in the opposite direction from the exit. Merlin stammered a little, no doubt trying to find the right string of words to convince Arthur, but nothing would work. Arthur's mind was made up.

By the time they reached the office wing, all the doors were closed. Arthur held his hand up, stopped walking, and let go of Merlin's arm. Merlin bumped into his back before he stopped, too.

Arthur scanned for any signs of life. Once he was sure all the doctors were out for their daily appointments, he waved his hand forward, signaling for them to move. He crept along the hallway for extra measure, but his eyes were fixed on the red door.

It was locked when they reached it. Arthur jiggled the polished metal lever, but it only wiggled fractionally in both ways before jamming. There didn't appear to be a keyhole either. Just as Arthur was about to throw his shoulder into the wood in desperation and frustration, Merlin said his name.

He was pointing to a small, digital keypad screen built into the wall next to the door. Arthur blinked at it, not quite sure what it was for.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"It needs a pass code," Merlin explained. "It opens the door."

Arthur peered tentatively over his shoulder at the security camera. The red light was still off, but it was pointed in their direction, staring at them with its black, cold eye. It made the hairs on his neck stand on end like he was being watched.

"Keep a look out," Merlin told him, attracting Arthur's attention. He was staring down the keypad intently, like he was daring it to make the first move.

Arthur turned away again to look down the corridor. It remained motionless, and he strained his ears for any footsteps or alarms. It occurred to him that the alarms could be silent.

"There's no one coming."

Behind him, there was a clicking sound, and Merlin's hand grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back.

"Come on," Merlin said, releasing Arthur and nodding into the office's open door.

"How'd you get it opened so fast?" Arthur had been looking away for hardly a moment.

Merlin held his hand up and twiddled his fingers like it was obvious.

"Ah," said Arthur, and really, he supposed magic  _did_  come in handy, after all. He followed Merlin into the room, and Merlin closed the door behind them as quietly as he could.

It turned out Wilt's office wasn't the dramatic hardwood-floored, mahogany-desked vision he'd expected. It was rather plain. Unlike Scott's, it wasn't cluttered; unlike Woo's, no pictures littered the white walls. There was a bookshelf on one wall, full of what looked like academic tomes, and a glossy steel desk with a wheelie chair towards the back of the room. The only thing on the desk was a lamp. A browning plant drooped its tears in the corner.

"This is a waste of time," Merlin said adamantly. Arthur had to admit, he felt a little disheartened by the state of the office. However, he wasn't going to let simplistic décor deter him.

"Look around," he ordered.

Merlin stood still as Arthur went to the bookcase. It was covered in thick layers of dust, and he searched for a clean spot to indicate something had recently been touched. There was nothing. He pulled out a random book and flipped through it for notes in the margins, but he was met with only clean white pages and typed text. Groaning, he replaced the book.

"Maybe there's a—a fake book or something," Arthur reached. He ghosted his hands over the books, unsure of which one to pick.

"That does what? Opens a trap door to Wilt's secret laboratory when it's pulled back?" Merlin quipped.

" _No_!" Arthur tried not to feel ridiculous, especially because Wilt actually  _did_  have a secret lab, just not in the building. He gave a wave of his wrist, searching for the words. "Like a hollowed out book to keep something in. Like one of those—those memory stick thingies."

There was always a hollowed out book in movies.

He dropped his hand in frustration at the incredulous look on Merlin's face. Annoyed, Arthur said, "I don't see you coming up with any ideas,  _Mer_ lin!"

When Merlin didn't answer, Arthur left the bookcase behind to try his luck at the desk. He immediately noticed it wasn't dusty. Not at all. He ran the tip of his finger along the surface to make sure.

"He's been here," he said surely. He felt his skin vibrate with exhilaration.

" _What_?"

Merlin had finally moved, if only a few steps forward.

Arthur leaned down at started pulling out drawers. When rifling through them, he found nothing but junk until he got to the last one. Inside, hidden under two blank notepads, was a laptop. His breath caught as he handled it delicately between his hands, like it was the Holy Grail, and stood up.

"It's warm," he realized aloud. His cheeks cracked, and he gave a breath of laughter. "Merlin, he's  _been_  here! The videos must be on this!"

"Good, fine. Let's take it with us," Merlin urged, bouncing up and down nervously as he gestured back towards the door.

Arthur hardly heard him. He had placed the laptop on the desk and unfolded it. It was already powered on, but it gave him a locked screen.

"It needs a password," he told Merlin. He glanced over the screen, noticing that Merlin hadn't moved closer. Arthur gritted his teeth. "Well? Don't just stand there! Unlock it!"

Merlin hesitated, but he soon crossed the room, and Arthur stood away to give him better access to the computer. Merlin's eyes flashed when he held his palm over the keyboard, and the lock screen faded into the purple galaxy-themed desktop.

Merlin bent over the laptop and started searching the files. It was taking too long, and Arthur was getting antsy. He'd expected the folder they needed to pop up immediately.

"Anything?" he inquired.

"I'm  _looking_ ," Merlin barked back.

Arthur wasn't patient enough for that. "Let me see," he demanded, shoving Merlin out of the way. He realized he had no idea what he was doing, so he started clicking random icons and files. Nothing looked like what they needed.

He clicked on something. He wasn't sure what. But the screen turned black for a heart-stopping moment, and then white block letters began racing down the screen. It looked like gibberish. It was a string of symbols, numbers, and letters. Arthur tried to make heads or tails of it, but couldn't. It looked like the notes in Wilt's books.

"What is this?" he asked Merlin, who was already looking over his shoulder.

Merlin's face had gone neutral as he stared. "It's a formula," he said at last.

"For Fisher?" Arthur guessed.

Merlin shook his head stiffly and his gaze fell downward. "I don't know," he said in a small voice.

Arthur straightened up quickly and slammed the laptop closed. "We're taking this with us," he decided, shoving it under his armpit. " _Someone_  in this world has to be less useless than you are."

He rounded the desk with Merlin at his heels and started for the door. When he pulled it open, he was met by four figures standing in the doorway. There was Woo, her assistant Phillip, Scott, and, in front of the crowd, a guard Arthur recognized as the man who had stunned him and taken him to Eleazar. He was carrying that black, flat gun again.

He fired it, and Arthur flinched in preparation for pain. However, it never came. There was a buzzing noise close behind him, drowning out a distant humming. The flat part of the gun, still connected by wires, had attached itself to Merlin's chest. Merlin shook violently until the pulses faded and he fell to the floor.

Arthur watched with wide eyes as Merlin grunted and tensed until he eventually fell still. He squared his jaw, hardened his eyes, and glared at Woo.

"Thank you, Beckett. We don't want him playing any tricks," she said casually to the guard. Her eyes scanned down to the laptop in Arthur's arms, and she held her palm upright like a child demanding a sweet. "Give that here, Arthur."

Arthur swallowed hard but he kept her gaze. He tried going through his options. Every muscle was urging him to fight. He'd die before he gave that laptop to Woo. He wished more than ever that he had his sword. Then he remembered Merlin. He wouldn't leave him, not for a second.

He ruefully handed the laptop to Woo.

"Good boy," she said when it was safely in her hands. She looked to Phillip and the guard, Beckett. "Take them to their rooms."

Arthur didn't put up a fight as Phillip took his arm and started leading him out of the office, but he did throw Scott a hateful glare. Behind him, he was aware of Beckett picking Merlin off the floor.

* * *

Arthur was behind glass again. It felt more like a prison now, and less like he was the main attraction at a museum. The way the florescent light was glaring off the glass made his head pound and his stomach turn, but he remained on his feet with a scowl painting his face.

Merlin was in his cell, still unconscious and dumped into a fetal position too far away from his mattress. Arthur didn't give Woo the satisfaction of getting angry about it.

Scott was at the desk, leaning over it instead of sitting in the chair, as he searched the contents of Wilt's laptop. Meanwhile, Woo paced nearby with her arms crossed tightly and her red fingernail tapping her elbow impatiently. The clacking her shoes were making did nothing for Arthur's head.

"Well?" she demanded after a few minutes. "Have you found anything yet? Where is he?"

"Patience, Eliza," Scott told her softly. "I'm trying. And I'm still a bit—," he rubbed at his head, and Arthur felt a spike of pleasure, "—muddled."

Merlin groaned, making Arthur reflexively look towards him. He was fidgeting in wakefulness—stretching out on the floor, tensing his muscles, grunting. He must have finally remembered what had happened, because he shot up to his knees with his hand holding the back of his head. He squinted around, assessing the situation. His face contorted into resigned acceptance of their current predicament. "Oh, Arthur," he moaned in half-agony, half-disappointment.

Woo must have noticed him wake up, too, because her voice rang out in a dry tone, "Yes, you were so close, too. Such a shame."

"Thanks for the sympathy, Lizzy," Merlin grunted as he struggled to his feet, and Woo shot him a warning glare. "I know, I know. Don't call you that."

"That's right," said Woo, smiling like a cat with a mouse in its talons. She knew she was the top of the food chain, the strongest predator in the room, and she had her prey exactly where she wanted it.

Merlin caught Arthur's eyes. They were still a little bloodshot and wounded. He dropped his shoulders in a breath, but he continued to stare. It was like he was trying to tell Arthur something, trying to prepare him for what was to come next. Arthur tried to ready himself for anything, but his concentration was broken by a gasp from near the desk.

"He found it," Scott said. He sounded breathless, disbelieving. It sounded foreboding to Arthur. He stood up a little straighter, his eyes wide and fixed on the laptop as though he could see through it to the screen.

Scott was still hunched over it, unblinking. He seemed fascinated by his own words.

Woo's aggressive expression softened in the meantime. She spun around to face Scott at breakneck speeds.

The only person who didn't react was Merlin. Arthur could still feel his eyes boring into him.

"What do you mean, he's found it?" Woo demanded hopefully. "Found  _what_?"

"Fisher! He perfected the serum," Scott said with absolute certainty. "It's all right here."

"That's not possible. He would have told me about—Why didn't he—?" Woo's heels pounded against the tiles as she paced towards Scott. "Get out of my way, let me see," she commanded while pushing him out of the way and leaning into the screen. Scott backed up like a scolded dog.

"What does it say?" Woo snapped, unable to decipher the formulas before her.

"They're synthetics."

Arthur whipped his eyes towards Merlin. He's the one who had said it, not Scott. Arthur tried to tell himself that Merlin was just going off what he'd seen of the formula in Wilt's office. But something churned in his stomach at the blank, unreadable expression on Merlin's face. His gaze wasn't traced with shock. He wasn't fishing to remember a code he'd just happened to memorize minutes earlier.

Scott snorted in laughter, bringing Arthur back to reality.

"I should say so." He pointed to something on the screen, showing Woo. "These strings would be impossible to create, even in a lab. I think Wilt found the cure in theory, not practice."

"But if they  _could_  be created?" Woo schemed.

"They can't be," Scott maintained, shaking his head. "Perhaps with a bit of prayer."

"Or magic," Woo said. Her predator's smirk fixed itself on Merlin. "Which we have."

Merlin remained distant, observing, like a scientist watching a troop of monkeys learn how to swing from a tree for the first time.

Arthur didn't like that look at all.

"There's something else here, too," Scott said like he'd noticed it for the first time. "A genetic code. DNA."

"Who's? A patient's?"

"I'm running it through the database now," Scott told her as he thwacked at the keyboard. Arthur let the clicking sound go right through him. He remembered the DNA samples Scott took from him on his first day in the facility. It felt like years ago.

For the first time, Merlin's stony expression slipped. He took a deep inhale, steadying but shaky. His hands curled into balls and clenched. He turned his head slowly to Arthur. There was something pleading lining his eyes.

Arthur locked onto that gaze, silently imploring Merlin to stop.  _Stop giving me that look. Stop giving up. Fight. Use your magic. Get us out of here while they're distracted. Stop giving me that damned look, Merlin, you're scaring me._

"There are two matches," Scott's voice echoed from somewhere very far away. As he continued to speak, the words got louder until they were screaming in Arthur's ears. He thought he was about to have another fit. "One of them is Wilt's. He used his own DNA—But."

"Who's the other match?" Woo asked impatiently. "Scott?"

Scott looked up from the laptop. "Him."

He was looking at Merlin.

The guarded expression was back on Merlin's features, and Arthur's mind went vacant. His whole world boiled down to that one word, that one, numbing syllable:  _Him_.

He must have looked so silly with his lips parted and his eyes searching the room blankly like the white walls held an answer to all his questions.

"Who is he to you?" Woo demanded, her tone as sharp and her shoes blaring as she marched in front of Merlin. "A son? A grandson?"

Merlin didn't answer.

"No, Eliza, that won't be it," Scott told her. "Their DNA coding . . . It's not similar. It's a  _match_ , one hundred percent. It's  _exactly_  the same."

The walls didn't provide Arthur with his answers. They shattered. Something inside him broke along with them. The pain it caused a cut deeper than Mordred's sword ever did, and he thought it might leave a scar.

"No," he said, determined not to believe it, but Merlin was giving him those eyes again. Or, no, he was giving them to the floor. "It's a mistake. It has to be."

Merlin didn't answer. Arthur clamped his jaw tight enough to break a tooth. His muscle shook under the pressure, his body getting ahead of mind in its fury.

"He's right," Woo agreed, but she was still looking directly at Merlin. Only, now she was regarding him like he might have been the predator all along. "I know Dr. Wilt. I've seen him a hundred times! He's—he's an old man. Old! With a long white beard and hair, and—and  _wrinkles_!"

Arthur closed his eyes slowly. Behind them, he saw the old sorcerer on the cliffs in Camlann.

Arthur had been angry the last time. He'd been scared, even. He didn't have the energy for that anymore. He felt cold. His breath shook frigidly when it rattled past his teeth. Goosebumps prickled his skin.

" _No_ , Merlin," he whispered in a low voice. One last attempt at denial.

"Arthur."

Merlin's voice hitched into the name like it was the last think he'd ever say. It was thick and apologetic. So were his red eyes when Arthur met them. But Merlin didn't actually say the words asking for forgiveness. He knew it would be a waste of breath.


	15. Chapter 15

"I don't believe it," Woo breathed. She stepped closer to the glass and searched Merlin in what might have been reverence. Arthur found it hard to look away despite not wanting to look at anyone—not Woo or Scott, and especially not Merlin. He couldn't stomach it. But he found his eyes lazily being drawn to movement and sound. He didn't resist it. What was the point, anyway?

"Did my father know who you really were?" Woo asked quickly.

"No one knew, Eliza," Merlin said.

"It doesn't matter," she decided. "You found it. You found Fisher! Everything we'd worked for—!" She gave a breath of laughter. Arthur had never seen her smile so gleefully. She looked back to Merlin after she'd collected herself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Merlin bristled. "After what you did?" he fumed, making Woo's expression drop. "And what's this I'm hearing about a placebo? People are dying!"

She held her ground. "People have always died."

"Not like this," he argued. It made her eyes flicker down to her shoes only briefly.

"The committee and I agreed this was the natural next step—," she began.

"And who brought the idea to the committee?" he cut her off. He never raised his voice. She didn't answer, but he didn't need one. "And no one thought to tell me? Why?"

She scoffed, seeming defensive. "Excuse me, but you disappeared! We hadn't heard from you in nearly two years!" She glared at Arthur. It pierced like a knife, but he was too lethargic to care. "I see why that is now," she went on, posing her hands on her hips. "You got what you wanted and abandoned us!"

Woo looked down at the floor, apparently trying to gather her thoughts. When she had, she said again, "It doesn't matter. You're back now, and we have Fisher. There won't be any need for trials or a placebo anymore. No one else has to die—not ever! You could teach us how to make it. We could cure  _everyone_."

Merlin didn't move or speak. Arthur's eyes were drawn to him anyway.

Finally, Merlin thinned his lips and shook his head decidedly. "No."

Woo deflated. She blinked at him like she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

"No one should live forever," Merlin told her. He almost sounded sorry. Arthur felt less numb all of a sudden. His blood was boiling and he was clenching his jaw and fists. He thought of Eddy. He thought of all those who had died because of Eleazar—because of  _Merlin_. Arthur wouldn't wish for them to live forever, but they all died for nothing.

"What?" Woo faltered.

"How could you be so selfish?" Scott spoke up. He walked around the desk to stand a few paces behind Woo. "My wife—"

"I know," said Merlin. "But it's better this way."

"How dare you say that?" Woo yelled. Suddenly, Arthur didn't see her as his enemy. She was more human than she'd ever been. "I watched both my parents suffer and die, like millions of people do every day. You're immune to all that. How dare you tell us what's good for us?"

Arthur watched Merlin's Adams apple quiver. His face was contorting softly. He closed his eyes slowly like it would block out the world. "I'm sorry," he whispered, but no one was interested.

"I dedicated my  _life_  to this!" Woo screamed.

Merlin gave a shaky breath and, into it, muttered something magic. Both Woo and Scott instantly dropped to the floor. Arthur started, thinking they were dead, but then he saw their chests rising and falling shallowly.

Meanwhile, Merlin had shaken his tears away and replaced them with dead, distant eyes that should not have belonged to him. He walked towards the glass barrier separating him from Arthur and touched his palm to it. It immediately broke into jagged shards and rained down with a shattering hiss. The pieces crunched under Merlin's shoes as he walked over them to Arthur's side.

"They won't be out for long," he said, walking by Arthur towards the cell door. Arthur turned to watch his every move. "We have to get out of here." He opened the door with an incantation, but Arthur didn't follow him.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked when he realized this.

Arthur didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to stay and take his chances with Woo. He wasn't sure what the rest of him was feeling, but it left him nauseous to the core. Anywhere seemed better than with Merlin.

"Get away from me," Arthur told him.

Merlin paced back into the room. "Arthur," he said again, sounding only a little shaky but he kept their eyes locked. Arthur stepped backwards to keep his distance.

When he saw this, Merlin stopped walking. He said softly, "I could make you come with me." It wasn't a threat. It was a plea. Either way, it didn't make Arthur feel any better.

Still, he squared himself, gave Merlin a hard glare, and shoved past him on the way out. Merlin followed immediately.

They raced through the corridors until bursting through the exit and into the rain. It was coming down hard, making the dirt road muddy with puddles. The drops on his face cooled Arthur down immediately. He didn't realize how hot he'd gotten, whether from anger or running.

He closed his eyes to catch his breath and focus on the chill seeping into his clothes. He only allowed himself a moment. "Where now?"

"We have to get a lorry," Merlin said quickly. "Come on." He rushed off in the direction of the north gate, kicking up mud as he went. Arthur ran with him, and by the time they reached the staff housing, his trainers and the bottoms of his sweatpants were soiled.

Arthur peered around the corner of the building they were sheltered behind. There was a row of vehicles parked on the dirt path between the buildings. Two men, with their rain jacket hoods pulled over their faces, were jogging towards one of the flatbeds as though trying to dodge the raindrops.

Arthur realized Merlin was leaning over him to get a look for himself. He straightened out and pushed his back further against the wall as to not be touched. Eventually, Merlin stood up, too.

"We make a run for it once they're gone," Merlin said. His eyes were closed and his head was resting against the wall like he was about to take a catnap. "Woo and Scott will have woken up by now."

Distantly, Arthur heard the rumble of an engine. The rain was becoming frigid now, no longer soothing. His hair was sticking to his forehead like paste. Tires spun on gravel, and shortly the lorry was making its way down the road towards the heart of the campus.

"Now," Merlin hissed when it was far enough way, and they both made their way for the row of cars. They set their eyes on the same one. Merlin jumped into the driver's side, and Arthur slammed the passenger side door shut next to him.

Merlin gripped the steering wheel firmly until his knuckles went white. He closed his eyes and just sat there for some time.

Arthur stared at him in frustrated perplexity. "What are you  _doing_?" he demanded.

Merlin hushed him like Arthur was breaking his concentration.

Arthur groaned and cast his eyes out the windshield. His heart sprang into his throat as he saw two guards burst out of the building. One must have spotted them, because he pointed towards the lorry and shouted something. They started running right towards Merlin and Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur warned. Merlin hushed him again. "Merlin, they've found us!" Arthur's head was suddenly pounding under the stress.

Then, suddenly, the engine kicked into life. Merlin slammed down on the acceleration so quickly that Arthur didn't quite realize what had jerked him back against his seat until they were flying past the two guards.

"Buckle up," Merlin told him in a dispassionate tone as he sped towards the north gate. The windshield wipers weren't on, and it was like someone was dumping buckets onto the car. They were gaining momentum as they approached the gate, whose automated arm was lowered.

Someone was rushing out of the security booth, waving his arms to get Merlin to stop. Merlin didn't.

Arthur peered into the wing mirror at a truck speeding after them. It was getting close.

When it became evident that Merlin wasn't going to stop, the security guard jumped off the road. He made it just in time. There was a splintering bang as they hit the mechanical arm. Arthur had to slam his palms against the glove compartment when he was thrown forward. The arm tumbled over the hood of the car. Arthur heard it bouncing above him until it splashed into the mud in the rearview.

"I told you to buckle up," Merlin defended meekly.

The other lorry jounced up and down as it drove over the arm. Arthur decided to keep his eyes forward, but that only made him more anxious. There was no way of losing their pursuers. There was only one dirt road, and it was surrounded by open scenery and rock formations. In the near distance, there was a sizable wooded area, but there was no path through it.

"Where are we?" Arthur demanded. It didn't look like there was civilization for miles.

"Dartmoor," Merlin said shortly.

"Great, so there's no way to shake them off," Arthur spat. "All because  _you_  wanted a base in the middle of nowhere!"

Merlin apparently ignored the last bit. "There are some trees," he said, pointing his chin forward.

Arthur gripped onto the door handle as a sudden weight of dread befell him. "Merlin you  _cannot_  maneuver a lorry through trees."

"No, you're right," Merlin said, his tone giving nothing of his plan away. "But I can get us close enough." He quickly jerked the wheel, making Arthur sway towards the center before gravity corrected him. The lorry was bouncing up and down on the uneven terrain of rocks and grass. Behind them, the other truck had driven off the road, too.

"Merlin, what the hell are you doing!" Arthur shouted.

Merlin didn't answer. His hands tightened around the steering wheel and Arthur could have sworn the car was going faster, slipping on the wet grass. The tree trunks were becoming more defined and individual with every moment.

" _Merlin_!"

The car jerked again as it turned three hundred and sixty degrees, this time squashing Arthur up against the door. Then it came to a total stop. The rumble of the engine and the onslaught of rain mixed with Arthur's breathing. It filled the space and distracted him from how fast his heart was beating against his ribcage. The other lorry was still driving forward, slipping on the wet grass. It was unable to slow down. It would hit them head-on.

"Hold my hand," Merlin ordered as he offered his palm to Arthur.

" _What_?"

"Don't let go." Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand at his side and laced their fingers together so tightly it was almost enough to cut off circulation. Arthur let his own hand remain limp.

Merlin gave the acceleration its all. He drove right for the oncoming lorry.

"Merlin," Arthur panicked. He realized he was strangling Merlin's hand now. The lorry was on top of them. " _Merlin_!"

His eyes slammed shut and he turned his head away, tensing his entire body against the inevitable.

Nothing happened.

He wondered if he'd died instantly. But he could still feel Merlin's hand in his. He opened his eyes and tentatively looked forward. It was like everything was in slow motion— _very_  slow. The vehicles were inching towards each other, both of the hoods getting bent and warped under the impact. It rippled across the metal. The glass of the headlights was spraying upward in shatters like they were pushing through something solid instead of air. Even the raindrops splattered against the windshield in drawn-out explosions.

Arthur looked down at his hand. His fingers had gone red and white around Merlin's, and his wrist was shaking under the strain. Merlin didn't let him go. Arthur blinked at him a few times.

"We have to go," Merlin instructed. He opened his door with a grunt, like it took great force, and Arthur slid across the bench to follow him out.

They ran for the woods. Arthur kept looking over his shoulder at the crash. Shrapnel was suspended midair now. As he ran through them, the scattered wall of frozen raindrops burst against his chest.

Once they reached the tree line, Merlin finally let go of his hand. Immediately, there was a deafening bang. Arthur slid to a halt and turned towards it. He could no longer tell one lorry from the other. The rain was coming down hard again. It seeped into Arthur's parted lips and beaded on his lashes.

"You killed them!" he said, remembering the two guards in the lorry. He had to shout it over the rain. He would have been shouting, anyway.

"We don't know that," Merlin defended like he didn't have the time. He was standing in the tree line, his side facing Arthur as he looked over his shoulder.

"Don't know that?" Arthur parroted incredulously. He threw a hand up in the direction of the crash. "Look at it!"

"It bought us some time, Arthur," Merlin argued. "They'll be looking for us in the wreckage. We can get away in the meantime."

Arthur rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to think. He couldn't latch on to a single thought. His head felt like it might implode, and his chest threatened to cave in. All the while, he wanted to vomit at the sight of Merlin.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with you?" he said once he'd lowered his hands. He had to remind himself to speak English. If he was going to yell, he wanted Merlin to understand him. He wanted every word to sting.

Merlin gave an exhale, seemingly not having an answer. "We have to stick together," he tried weakly.

"Why? Because it's what you want?" Arthur seethed. His voice echoed back to him on the tree trunks. "Do you expect me to trust you? After you just killed those men, and how many others? You're not even sorry about it!"

"Yes, I am!"

Arthur could almost laugh. It wished this were some kind of joke.

"No, Merlin. This is not how sorry people behave," he said instead. "They don't go on killing innocent people. You're a  _liar_! And me—," this time, he really did laugh. "I'm not even supposed to be here, am I?"

Merlin kept his lips closed, but he couldn't maintain the neutral expression he was undoubtedly going for.

"What happened to that destiny you were always prattling on about?" Arthur demanded. " _Now_  you decide to defy it?"

Merlin turned towards him fully and shouted, "I couldn't wait anymore! You used to laugh at me every time I talked about destiny, remember? You  _never_  waited around for something. You always made things happen!"

Arthur's breaths were panting. Despite the fresh air, he felt strangled. "Are you saying this is my fault?" he finally asked. He shouldn't have felt so guilty. He never asked for any of this.

"No!" Merlin said with immediate force. It brought him two steps closer. "I just wanted you  _back_! Everything I did was for you."

"Then that's worse," Arthur tried to make him understand. "Because that makes me responsible, too. We said no more secrets, Merlin."

Merlin didn't say another word. He blinked rapidly, like the rain had seeped the idea into his thick skull.

Arthur squared his shoulders. There was only one way to go, and it was forward. He stalked past Merlin into the trees.

"Where are you going?" Merlin asked. Arthur realized he had no idea. He just wanted to get some place warm and dry.

"To clean up your mess," he barked from over his shoulder, not bothering to look back. He knew Merlin would slump after him.

* * *

Night had fallen long before they reached a small village situated on the edge of the marshland. They picked a dark house away from the village center to hole up in for the night. Arthur stood over the pullout couch in the living area, trying to unfold a fitted sheet he'd found in the hall cupboard.

Every creaking sound the old house made caused him to jump. When the refrigerator in the kitchen kicked on, he almost reached for the sword that should have been at his side. He didn't know what the point of making a bed was. He would be sleeping with one eye open, anyway, no matter how exhausted he was. Constantly having to look over his shoulder was tiring work.

He froze when the stairs started to whine, but his guard went down when Merlin's dark silhouette walked into the room.

"They'll sleep for the night," Merlin assured Arthur about the family upstairs. "By the time they wake up, we'll be long gone. They'll just think they had a lie in—probably blame it on the weather." He moved towards the window and pushed the heavy curtain aside just enough to peer out of it. "Tomorrow, we need to make our way home."

"Home?" Arthur repeated. "They'll expect us to go there."

"They won't expect us to go to my hospital," Merlin corrected. "We need to get you drugs for your head." He looked over his shoulder at Arthur. "How are you feeling?"

It was a loaded question. "Fine," Arthur answered shortly.

"Keep it that way," Merlin advised. "Try to keep your blood pressure down."

Arthur snorted like Merlin had just said the funniest thing in the world. "You're not making that any easier," he drawled.

Merlin ignored it. He readjusted the curtain and turned completely away from the window. "We'll take a bus," he decided. "Remind me to go to a cash machine for money tomorrow morning."

"A cash machine?" Arthur asked, worried. "Won't they have frozen our accounts or something?"

Merlin wrinkled his nose at him. "Arthur. They're a pharmaceutical company."

Arthur suddenly felt silly.

"You've been watching too much television," said Merlin.

Arthur immediately tore his eyes away from him and continued to struggle with putting the sheet on the thin mattress.

"Let me," Merlin offered. He crossed to the other side of the bed and grabbed a corner of the sheet.

Arthur yanked it away. "I've got it!" he snipped.

Merlin looked wounded, but he quickly recovered and pushed his neutral expression back on his face. He went to the armchair, where Arthur had haphazardly thrown another sheet and a pillow, and began to situate it.

Arthur's bed was barely made. One of the corners wasn't fitting onto the mattress, and the top sheet was tossed carelessly at an angle, but it was good enough. He flung the pillow onto the bed and punched it a few times to get the lumps out. When he was finished, he sat down on the bed and pulled off his muddy shoes. His sweatpants were filthy and still damp. He tried to brush off as much dirt as he could onto the carpet to no avail.

Giving up, his gaze swept to Merlin, who was trying to find a comfortable position on the chair. He had his sheet wrapped around him like a cocoon and both legs hanging off one side. His arms were crossed and he was trying to rest his head on the other arm of the chair, but it didn't look very comfortable at all. Arthur took no pity on him.

"Are you going to tell me now?" Arthur asked. Even in the darkness, he saw Merlin's lashes flutter open.

"What?"

"Everything."

Merlin sat up and kicked his legs to the front. For a while, he said nothing. He just stared, like he was trying to decide where to start. Apparently, he chose to start at the very beginning.

"After you died, Gaius used to tell me to have faith in my destiny. He said, one day you'd come back, and I'd know for certain that I hadn't failed," he began. "It got harder to remember that after he died, but I tried. And then Gwen died, leaving Camelot without a successor. For a while, there was chaos, and then the Saxons came and took over. I thought you'd come back, because your people needed you, but you didn't. Years passed, and pretty soon, Camelot was no more. Everything I knew was gone. So I left."

Arthur chewed at the inside of his mouth, looking past the darkness to the sunlit halls of the citadel. There was chatter of servants in the courtyard and a summer breeze floated through the stain glass windows. Bells tolled in the distance and red capes billowed out from the knights on the wall walks.

Camelot wasn't even ruins anymore. Its ashes had scattered in the wind ages ago.

"Hundreds of years went by, and people forgot about Camelot. All its records had been destroyed, everyone who once lived there was dead," Merlin went on. "I tried to keep it alive. I tried to keep  _you_  alive. I wrote down everything I could remember. I talked about Camelot to anyone who would listen. They all thought it was a story—magic and dragons, there was no such thing anymore. People starting making their own fables about you and Camelot, and after five hundred years, I couldn't remember what was real anymore."

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and to bury his face in his palms. He breathed into them shakily for a moment, and when he uncovered his face, his expression was very far away, like he was reliving so many memories at once. Arthur searched him carefully, trying to find traces of the old Merlin in his eyes. If he looked hard, he was still there.

"I needed someone to remind me. Because I missed home, and I missed you," said Merlin. "But at that point, I really believed that I failed, because you never came back. Avalon stayed silent. Magic stayed dormant. And I couldn't stand it anymore. One day, I decided that destiny had forgotten about us, and I needed to take matters into my own hands." He laughed thickly. "Maybe I really believed that. Or I'd just convinced myself, but I searched every corner of magic for a way to bring you back. But, you know the rules. In order to give a life, another life must be exchanged. I didn't want that to happen."

Arthur nearly scoffed and said,  _good job with that_. He refrained.

"I thought I'd better employ other methods. By that time, medical science was advancing. I introduced myself back into that world. I studied medicine for years, but I found nothing. I thought if there was a way to combine science and magic, maybe there was a chance. I worked alone for another . . . I don't know. Two hundred years? After a while, I just didn't have the resources anymore. I needed financial backing.

"That's how I met Eliza Woo. She was only a student at the time. Her father was a famous doctor in Korea. He was trying to cure cancer, because his wife suffered and died of it. And he suffered from it, too. After his wife died, he and Eliza moved to England, but he had gotten too sick to continue his research. She took after him when she grew up. Because of their research, I knew they wouldn't find my idea too farfetched. I told her I was trying to cure human sickness. It wasn't until later, when we'd worked together for a long time, did I tell her I was really trying to bring people back from the dead. She became obsessed with the idea of stopping death. Because both her parents had cancer, she was at risk for it, and so was her daughter.

"After she graduated, she convinced her father to financially support our research and, in exchange, she and I would be partners. It worked for few years. We developed Fisher, and we worked with a few hospitals and volunteers. Then, in 2014, there was that whole Ebola threat. We used Fisher to cure some of those infected, and it got us recognized. Around that time, Eliza's father died. All his money, all our funding, was put in her hands.

"She was approached by the Department of Health for a government contract. I told her no, but she was convinced we'd have access to more resources and gain better recognition with the government backing us up. So she sold us to them, and they gave us employees and set up an executive committee, which Eliza was on."

"And you weren't on it?" Arthur interrupted.

Merlin shook his head. "I didn't want to be. I didn't care about bureaucracy. Eliza and I agreed that, as long as she was on the committee representing our interests, we wouldn't let the government control us." He smiled bitterly down at his lap. Hindsight was always so clear. "Later that year, they came up with an idea to push the experiment forward. They built the facility in Dartmoor. They hired people like Conrad Scott. They introduced the Cleansing. And I knew it was wrong. I tried to talk to board out of it. Eliza promised she'd make them see sense. And then I found out she'd been the one who proposed the idea in the first place. There was nothing I could do."

Arthur didn't know if Merlin actually believed that. There must have been something he could have done. There's always something.

"But you used their resources anyway?" he said. There was no denying that. Merlin had an office at Eleazar.

"Yeah, I did," Merlin said with a thick voice. It was too dark to say for certain, but he might have been crying. He ran his hand through his hair. "Because I hadn't found you yet. I didn't care how many people had to die anymore." He swatted at his cheeks and got himself back under control. "But I knew I couldn't trust Eliza or anyone else. I started working on my own version of Fisher in secret, and I finally got to stage where magic could be used. I tried incantations, and used my own blood as a catalyst.

"Then, two years ago, after the experimentation period was up and all we had were the cadavers, I tested my Fisher on a girl." Merlin smiled softly at some memory. "Melanie Bishop. She had MS—a  _bad_  case. She was fifteen years old, and she already lost her ability to walk. She didn't have long. Her parents volunteered her for the trial as a last hope, and she died in our care . . . And I brought her back.  _Completely_."

He laughed again, this time happily. The moonlight streaming through the cracks in the curtains made his eyes sparkle wetly as he relived the moment. "She was cured and alive, and able to live a full life with her family. The next day, in secret, I brought her home, and then I went right to Avalon. I had enough of the potion left for a few more injections."

Arthur remembered that Scott had been wary of the injections Merlin had given him in the weeks after his return. "All those vaccines you gave me," he said, "they weren't vaccines?"

"Not all of them," Merlin admitted. "I thought I'd keep having to give you the potion. But I kept an eye on Melanie. I kept checking up on her. She kept living. She was fine from only one dose, so I stopped giving them to you."

"You gambled with her life so you wouldn't have to with mine?"

"Yes." He didn't seem very repentant about it.

"Fine," Arthur said, looking past it. It wasn't Merlin's greatest crime, after all. He gestured for Merlin to continue and prompted, "How did you bring me back if you didn't have my body?"

"Well, I didn't yet," Merlin told him. "But there are dozens of ways to bring a person back from the dead with magic. Most of the time, they end up an empty shell—sometimes a walking and talking empty shell. But I had a way to make you Arthur again. I always knew how I was going to do it when the time came. I needed something that was yours, something permanent and a part of you. I had your mother's sigil. But you weren't a du Bois; you were a Pendragon. Using the two sigils together is powerful magic. They're the two families that destiny brought together just so you could be born. I had one of them."

Arthur shook his head. "What did you use for my father's?"

"Something permanent," Merlin repeated. He pulled back his sleeve to show his dragon tattoo. "I've proven to be permanent enough myself. I got it right over a pulse point, where the magic flowed the greatest. I used your family sigils to bring your body back from Avalon, and then I used Fisher to bring you to life. You'd been dead longer than Melanie had been, so it took a little longer for you to come back fully, but . . . You know the rest."

"I'm not sure I do," Arthur admitted, even though the exposition had been thorough. "Did Woo know about your magic? Is that why she was so keen on us?"

"No," said Merlin. "But I used to tell her stories about Camelot all the time. Of course, I did. I was working towards finding you. You were all I ever thought about. I guess my stories must have stuck with her. If I'd known she would have reacted like this . . ."

He snorted bitterly.

"Hopefully, you wouldn't have done a lot of things if you'd known what was going to happen," Arthur reproved. Merlin looked down at his hands like he'd been scolded.

Arthur searched his brain for gaps of information or faults in the story. There were probably lots of details Merlin had left out, but Arthur could only think of one. "Who's M?"

Merlin looked back up, seeming confused. "Who?"

"'Wish you were here. M,'" Arthur recited. Merlin gaped at him. "That's what it said on the postcards. Who were they from? Who's M?"

"Where did you find those?" Merlin asked, truly at a loss.

"In your bunker," Arthur hurried to say like it hardly mattered. "Answer the question."

Merlin continued to gape, but he shook his head to recover. "No one."

"Merlin."

"It's me," Merlin admitted. "M for Merlin. I wrote those."

Arthur knitted his brows together, not understanding. Why would Merlin write postcards to himself? "Who were they for?"

"No one," Merlin repeated, and Arthur shot him a furious warning glare. "For you. I told you, I had a list of places I wanted to take you."

Arthur supposed the idea of Merlin staring off at historical monuments and wishing for Arthur's hand to hold should have been sweet—or pathetic. He couldn't decide.

"Well, I'm happy we started our world tour in fucking Devon," Arthur answered dryly, not bothering to bite it back. Merlin looked away again, and Arthur studied his shadowy profile.

"Why did you call it Fisher?" he wondered.

"Do you remember the Fisher King?" said Merlin. Arthur thought back. He'd gone on a quest for the king's trident. They'd found his body still sitting on his throne. Arthur never believed the legend until he saw the corpse itself. "His magic kept him alive for thousands of years. He spent all that time waiting for you, and I think it drove him mad. He wanted to die; he asked for it."

Arthur thought he understood what Merlin was driving at. "You didn't want to become like him."

"I promised myself I wouldn't," said Merlin. "I called it Fisher as a reminder."

Arthur sat back against his pillow. He scanned Merlin, trying to look for any signs of lie. He'd been wary of every word. Perhaps Merlin was just spinning this tale like he'd done every other.

"Why should I believe any of this?" Arthur asked. "You could be making it up."

"No," Merlin told the floor. "I'm done lying."

"That's good to know."

Arthur wanted to believe it was the truth. No matter how hard it was to swallow, at least it wasn't another lie. He tried to think of another question to ask, but only one turned in his mind.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Merlin's eyes flickered back upward. Some time in the night, they'd become reminiscent of the eyes Arthur once knew. "I was scared. I thought you'd hate me."

"I don't know if I would have," Arthur admitted. If only Merlin had been forthright with him, instead of Arthur having to find out the hard way. Perhaps things would have been easier. Arthur supposed that was the theme of their entire lives together. "You're always so afraid I won't trust you, Merlin. But you don't trust me."

Merlin breathed in and nodded like he knew it was true. "I want to. But I don't think I've ever really trusted anyone," he said. "I've had to lie, to keep secrets all my life—since the day I was born. The only time I  _really_  didn't have to hide were those days in the forest with you. I was . . ." He smiled dreamily, but it soon faded. "Free." His voice cracked as he exclaimed, "And then you died! I just wanted to save you."

"You shouldn't blame yourself for that," Arthur told him.

"It was my fault."

"It was Mordred's."

Merlin scoffed at the name. "I should have killed him when he was a child."

Arthur's jaw tensed. Suddenly, the Merlin from Camelot was gone. Before him once more was this new Merlin, the one beaten and twisted by the centuries. There was nothing left of the kind, clumsy, brave idiot from Ealdor. Now, he was just old, bitter, and scared. Arthur had lost Merlin for good, just as he'd lost one other.

"That sounds like something Morgana would say," Arthur told him pointedly, meaning for it to sting. Merlin reacted like something had hit him squarely in the chest.

Arthur laid down on his side, facing away from Merlin. He thought he'd never fall asleep.

* * *

"Arthur? Arthur!"

His mouth felt like cotton, thick and metallic. As he groaned awake, it took Merlin's face a little longer to come into focus than it should have. Merlin looked frightened, with his pale skin and shadowed eyes shimmering against the moonlight in an entirely foreign room.

Arthur couldn't remember when they had gotten there, or where they were in the first place. He wondered where the heavy red and gold canopy hanging over his mattress had gone. He wondered why Guinevere wasn't beside him.

Merlin was clutching at Arthur's shirt collar. The pressure of it flooded Arthur's mind, and suddenly all his memories followed.

"It happened again, didn't it?" he asked, blinking away the fog in his head.

Merlin seemed to relax slightly, but his lips pressed together into a thin, thoughtful line. "Yeah," he said after a pause.

Arthur released himself from Merlin's grasp and rolled onto his back with a grunt. His muscles ached as they settled against the springs in the mattress. He rubbed his eyes, making spots appear in the darkness.

"What happens if they find us before we get to the hospital, Merlin?" he asked. He wasn't an idiot: He knew Eleazar wouldn't be interested in fixing Arthur anymore, not now that they knew Merlin was the key to their serum.

"I don't know," Merlin said, sitting back on his ankles. "Coma. Maybe . . ." He gave a shaky sigh, and Arthur didn't need him to finish in order to understand.

"I won't let that happen," Merlin told him quickly. Arthur turned his head away, morbidly wondering if death would stick this time, if it were to come. Or would he come back again when he was supposed to? Would Merlin still be here?

Then he wondered if death actually was in the cards for him. Or did Merlin's serum give him everlasting life? He thought he'd rather die.

"Do you need to get sick?" Merlin asked.

"No," Arthur answered immediately, even though he felt unsettled. He was afraid he'd only throw up blood, anyway. "I need to get some sleep—and so do you."

Arthur rolled back onto his side, facing away from Merlin. He closed his eyes and listened out for movement. Merlin didn't get up for a long while, and Arthur tried not to focus on the tingling feeling on the back on his neck under Merlin's stare. Finally, the mattress bounced. Arthur heard the sheet rustle and Merlin shuffled on the bed. He stretched out next to Arthur, pushing his chest against Arthur's back and snaking his arms around his torso.

"What are you doing?" Arthur whined, craning to look over his shoulder.

"You should stay on your side," Merlin quipped. "You always end up on your stomach. I'll make sure you don't."

"What if it happens again?" Arthur worried. "I could hurt you."

"I'll take my chances."

Arthur faced forward again and settled in, accepting it. He felt Merlin's heartbeat against his spine, and the hard line of his body was soothing and supportive. His arms were warm around Arthur, and Arthur subconsciously rested his own arm over Merlin's.

"Fine," he breathed. "Get some sleep, then. Tomorrow, we go to the hospital—but we're not running, Merlin. We're going back to Eleazar, do you understand? We're going to get all those people out of there, and we'll burn it to the ground if we have to."

They had to end what they'd started. Arthur was as much to blame for this as Merlin, and that made Eleazar and all its patients his responsibility. He wasn't going to abandon them.

"But first we're going to Jaclyn and Elliot's," Arthur finished with resolve. "I'm getting my sword back."

Merlin was silent, but at least he wasn't arguing.

Arthur left him to his thoughts, and he listened to the sounds of the unfamiliar house until he drifted back to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

They had woken up before the sun to make the first bus out of Dartmoor. Arthur didn't know where it was headed. He didn't care. He just wanted to get as far away from Eleazar as he could. He told himself it was out of a need to regroup, to plan his next move.

That wasn't the real reason.

If he put miles between himself and the facility, maybe he'd be able to trust Merlin again. But with every kilometer gone by, the sinking feeling in his gut pushed deeper. The bus took them to Berkshire, where they were able to catch another one that backtracked to Glastonbury. By that time, the sun was painting over the world, but Arthur still felt like it was dawn. His eyes drooped with weariness, and the cranked up heat on the bus wasn't helping him stay awake. Sometimes, the bus would hit a pothole and slam his head against the window, rousing him momentarily from a sleep that he didn't know had overcome him. He tried to keep his dry eyes open, but his lids were too heavy.

On that second bus (mostly empty, as commuters were headed in the opposite direction towards London at that time), Arthur had put as many rows between himself and Merlin as he could. When he managed bouts of wakefulness, Arthur saw Merlin through the spaces between the seats. He was sitting on the aisle side, and next to him was the duffle bag they'd taken from the home they'd slept in the previous night. It was full of the clothes they'd worn in Eleazar. Merlin said it was best to not look like escaped mental patients.

The clothes Arthur wore now, a pair of tan trousers and timeworn white jumper, were a little too tight on him. The man of the house hadn't quite been his size. At least they weren't baggy like they were on Merlin.

On the bus, Arthur hadn't thought much about how the jumper restricted movement in his arms and shoulders. He'd tried to overlook the way the trousers cut off circulation to his calves. However, now, standing outside Merlin's hospital with nothing else to do as he waited, it was hard not to notice these things. He tried stretching out the collar of the jumper, but it only snapped back into place.

Trying not to pay any mind to the rash that was no doubt festering in his groin, he peered around the brick corner of the building to the main entrance of the hospital. There were no signs of movement. Since Merlin went in ten minutes ago, only one woman carrying a balloon and flowers had entered.

Arthur huffed, making his breath fog around his lips, and leaned back against the wall. He squinted in the distance at the row of parked, dormant ambulances against the bare trees. The last time Arthur had been in the real world, the leaves were only just changing into brilliant golds and reds—his colors. When he was young, he used to think the leaves would only change those colors in Camelot. In Odin's lands, they would become maroon in the autumn; in Carleon, they became all different shades of blue before breaking from their branches; and Nemeth became a sea of amethyst.

Somewhere along the line, he realized the autumn brought gold and red to every land. He knew it had nothing to do with him, but a childlike twinge in his heart (one he never confessed aloud) always made him want to believe that the Pendragons were the earth's favorite bloodline, and the autumn world was proof of that.

It was harder to believe in such things now that the trees were barren and he was the last surviving Pendragon. The bloodline ended with him.

It would end a lot sooner if Merlin didn't hurry up.

A little ways down the wall Arthur was standing along, a metal door opened up and Merlin appeared out of it. He looked around a little bit, sniffing the air, before catching sight of Arthur exactly where he'd left him. He buried his hands into his the pockets of his too-big hoodie and stalked over.

"It's about time," Arthur reprimanded. "I was beginning to think you'd run off."

"I was wondering the same about you, actually," Merlin said frigidly, though he had no right. Arthur  _should_  have left while he had the chance.

When Merlin stopped in front of him, he pulled out an orange pill container filled almost completely to the top with small, white tablets. He opened the top and shook two pills into his hand. "Take these," he said, offering them up.

Arthur eyed them warily. The last time Merlin had given him a drug, things didn't turn out so well in the long run.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

"Dexamethasone," Merlin said, making Arthur blink in ignorance. When Merlin saw this, he quipped, "Yeah, I thought you wouldn't know. Just take them. They'll bring down the swelling."

Arthur didn't reach for them. "Why is that happening to me?" he demanded. "You gave me Fisher and it never did anything."

"I told you, their Fisher is different than mine. It's incomplete," Merlin said, trying to be patient but his palm was still upturned with the pills resting on them.

"None of the other patients reacted this way," Arthur surmised, but he wasn't so sure. For all he knew, maybe some people had died from a swelling brain.

"They didn't get my Fisher, too, though, did they? Eleazar's formula must have not mixed well with my potion. It's like what happens when there's a petrol spill in the ocean."

Arthur shook his head, not understanding.

Merlin scoffed in frustration. "Lots of fishies die and marine biologists have to clean otters off with washing up liquid."

"So, you're saying this is essentially washing up liquid?" Arthur asked, nodding down to the tablets.

"If we're being metaphorical." Merlin pushed his hand closer to Arthur's chest. "Come on."

His eyes turned pleading when Arthur continued to hesitate, but soon Arthur snatched them from his palms and clapped them to his mouth. After he swallowed them, he didn't feel immediately different. Traces of a headache still lingered. He supposed these things take time to work.

"How did you get those, anyway?" he asked as Merlin swooped down and put the pill container into the duffle before zipping it back up.

"They were in the store room," said Merlin with a casual tone. "We keep drugs like that on hand. They're needed a lot."

"No, I mean, didn't people wonder where you'd been all this time?" Arthur clarified as Merlin stood up.

He shrugged and pulled a face as he adjusted the duffle's strap on his shoulder. "Well, yeah."

"What did you tell them?"

Merlin dropped his shoulders in a loud breath. "Arthur—"

Arthur's eyes widened in realization. "You used magic on them, didn't you? That's why you told me to wait out here!" He almost wanted to vomit up the pills.

"I needed to get the drugs quickly! There's no telling whether someone from Eleazar was around, or if they're still using Alex," Merlin defended in agitation. "I knew you wouldn't approve, but I had no choice. Saving your life is a little more important than worrying about some mild hypnosis." He dropped his voice and mumbled to the tarmac, "They won't even remember it tomorrow."

"Fine," Arthur conceded through his teeth. The damage was done now, anyway. He brushed past Merlin in the direction of the car park. "Now, come on. We have to get my sword back."

Merlin hustled to keep up, staying just a few steps behind him. "What's your plan, anyway?"

"I don't know, Merlin. I doubt they'll give it to me if I ask nicely."

"No, I don't mean about getting your sword back," he clarified. "For Eleazar."

Arthur stopped walking to face Merlin. He didn't know whether or not to reveal his intentions for the organization. Merlin was one of them, after all, even if he claimed to be against them now. He might try to sabotage Arthur's plan.

But in order for the plan to work, Arthur needed Merlin whether he liked it or not. Merlin had to be let in at some point.

"We start with the prisoners," Arthur said. "They're primed for a rebellion. We use them as a distraction, like you'd been planning."

"Glad I can do something right," Merlin said, probably not as scathingly as he would have liked. There was regret in his eyes.

"We round up the employees for the time being. That will leave the labs open," Arthur continued as though Merlin had said nothing. "You'll be able to make more of your potion there. We're curing all the patients, and we're bringing whoever we can back from the dead."

Merlin had gone as still as a statue, a very stupid statue with its stone mouth hanging open and its marble eyes reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. "You want me to make Fisher? Using my blood? For everyone?" he asked at last.

"Well, seeing as you're the only one who can make the damn thing," Arthur snapped, "unfortunately, you're my only option."

Merlin closed his eyes. They weren't closed for a long time, but it was more than blink. When he opened them again, there was some tender memory in them. "Is that what you want?" he whispered.

"To help the people who've been hurt?" Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose and not understanding why Merlin was behaving like a child who had just lost his favorite toy. " _Yes_! It's what I want."

His Adam's apple shaking as he swallowed, Merlin nodded with an air of bravado. "You're wish is my command," he said, pushing a fake grin to his lips. He met Arthur's eyes with a dull sparkle in his own.

Arthur rolled his eyes and spun back around to walk. It was hard to do in those trousers. "Let's get a move on. And, for god's sake, let's find something else to wear."

* * *

The Tor rose up out of early morning fog. It appeared to be floating, like an island on a lake, in a Fata Morgana, finally revealing its true self. Arthur wondered if really was just a mirage.

He tried not to look at it, but it was always in his peripherals. He could see no hikers, no shadows on the path leading up to the tower in the mist. He couldn't blame the people of the village for leaving it desolate. There must have been some traces of the afterlife that spilled through into the cracks between the world and Avalon. The grass surrounding the Tor always felt a little too damp under Arthur's feet.

He narrowed his eyes at the distant greenery, wondering if he'd see the lake properly if he squinted.

"Can you see it all the time?" he asked, his eyes flickering up to watch Merlin's reflection in the passenger side window. He didn't want to know whose car this was. He just hoped their hospitalized family member wasn't too sick, and this would only add to their bad day.

Merlin didn't need to inquire after Arthur's meaning. "Yeah," he said simply.

Arthur wondered if that meant Merlin couldn't reach the Tor without a boat. He might have looked silly rowing a boat across grass. Maybe he disappeared into the veil, like the lake, if he stepped foot into it. He wondered how many times Merlin had walked up the path to the tower, if he could reach it after all. It might have been a good place to get away from him, if Arthur ever had to.

"How do you cross it?" Arthur asked, unable to help himself.

In the reflection, Merlin cocked a brow. "Are you asking if I can walk on water?"

Arthur looked at him, trying to read his expression. Arthur shrugged and shook his head. He didn't know what he was asking. Merlin merely brought his eyes to the road ahead.

"You don't have to be so mysterious," Arthur huffed.

So did Merlin. He quickly reached over and grabbed Arthur's wrist on his lap. Arthur felt the tiniest surge in his heart. At first, he thought it was from the unexpected contact, but then the green in the corner of his eye changed. The fog had dispersed. Arthur peered out into the bluish-gray water. Its waves were choppy in the wind, and they broke against the banks beneath the isle. The tower looked different, too. It looked more like an ancient ruin.

Arthur felt Merlin's hand leave him, and the lake instantly turned back into grass within the blink of his eyes.

He looked away from it. Knowing what was really there, hidden beneath the surface of reality, wasn't quite the same as seeing it. It had been different the first time, when he'd first gotten back, and was himself still in between life and death. Then, he didn't know the lake had been his grave or the tower his tombstone.

"I didn't need to see that," he told his hands.

"I wish I couldn't," answered Merlin.

The car rocked as he drove it towards the side of the road. They were nearly all the way up the hill now.

"We should walk from here," Merlin suggested. He didn't wait for Arthur to reply before opening his door and getting out. Arthur gaped at him for a moment before collecting the duffle at his feet and doing the same.

They left the car behind and continued upwards to the Bryants' neighborhood. Arthur thought the walk would have been muscle memory at that point, but as his mind wandered back to the lake he noticed himself sometimes drifting from Merlin's side.

When they reached the house, both cars were parked in the short drive, and Arthur trained his face to not show panic. He had hoped for an empty house. Breaking and entering would have been a lot easier with Merlin. Although, it hardly mattered whether the Bryants were home or not. He wasn't going back to Eleazar without his sword.

He squared his shoulders and picked up his pace, and Merlin followed him up the stoop to the front door. When he knocked on it, nothing happened for a moment, and then footfalls sounded from the other side.

When the door opened, Jaclyn was standing in the entrance. Her look of mild confusion about who the visitors could be turned into alarm. She went pale as she gasped out, "William! I thought—Oh, my god!"

Merlin pushed a tight smile onto his lips. "Hey, Jacs. Yeah, I missed a few days of work, I know."

"A few—?" She blinked towards Arthur, as though seeing him for the first time. He kept his expression even, and she looked back to Merlin. "What are you doing here?"

"Well," Merlin started. He and Arthur shared an unsure look. Neither of them had much of a plan. "We need something."

" _What_?" Arthur wasn't sure if that had been a general question or if Jaclyn was asking after what they'd come for. He decided on the latter.

"My sword," he said, making it sound more like a command. If Merlin didn't have a plan either, and no lie that would casually roll off the tongue when Arthur actually needed it, Arthur would take matters into his own hands. He slammed the door open all the way and shoved inside. Jaclyn yelped a little as she jumped out of the way.

"No! You—Get out of my house!" she screamed after him once she'd gotten over her shock. Arthur didn't pay her any mind. He marched towards the stairs. " _Elliot_! Elliot, get in here!"

Merlin was behind Arthur, keeping close but walking backwards. "I'm really sorry about this, Jaclyn. He's just—." Arthur imagined Merlin holding out his hands in a placating gesture. His face would be screwed into something apologetic, and Arthur wondered if he really meant it. "He's sort of pissed off with me right now. I couldn't say no to him."

"What on earth is going on here?" Elliot said. He must have entered the room, but Arthur didn't look back. He started up the stairs. Distantly, he heard a cat's meow.

"Mum?"

"Get into the other room, Harrison!"

"Where do you think you're going?" Elliot demanded. Arthur realized that more than one set of footsteps was following him in his ascent. Elliot and Jacyln were behind Merlin.

"To get my sword," he answered like it was obvious.

"I'll phone the police!" Jaclyn warned. "I'll do it if you two don't get out right now!"

"I'd advise against that," said Merlin coolly.

"Is that a threat?" asked Elliot.

"It's advice."

"You think a little too highly of your own advice, Merlin," Arthur said as he reached the top of the stairs. He headed straight for the collection room. "Is that the reason you called yourself my advisor?"

"I got you out of enough jams," said Merlin.

"That's funny," Arthur deadpanned. "Maybe you should have called yourself court jester."

"What the hell are you going on about?" Elliot demanded as Jaclyn shouted, "Have you gone mad?"

Arthur didn't even glance at the other blades in the collection. He went right for the case in the back of the room, where his sword still lay. He rested his hand on the reinforced glass longingly, and wondered how many experiments the sword had been subjected to.

They'd both had a rough few months.

The case was still locked, so Arthur spun around to the group and picked out Elliot. He looked furious, but still very small. Anything that got in the way of Arthur and his sword seemed small in that moment.

"Open it," Arthur commanded.

"I don't think so!" said Elliot, aghast.

"This has gone far enough," said Jaclyn, stepping forward. "I want you out of my house, or I'll phone the police." The threat seemed empty, even though she appeared to believe it.

Arthur didn't have the patience for fuming husbands or hostile wives. Before she even finished her threat, Arthur yelled, "Merlin, open it!"

"Why do you keep saying Merlin?" Jaclyn shouted back.

She got her answer soon enough. Merlin swung his palm towards the display case, and the glass that could not be scratched pebbled and shattered in an explosion. Both Elliot and Jaclyn yelled out and flung towards the other for protection.

Arthur took the opportunity to reach inside the broken case and pull out his sword. The metal of the hilt was cool at first, but it almost immediately warmed to his touch. It was as light as feather and as smooth as air. Arthur caught his warped reflection on the blade.

Forcing himself to cut the moment short, he dropped his arm to his side and turned back to Merlin. He nodded, signaling that it was time for them to go.

"You put that back right now," he heard Elliot say. He looked over to find the man brandishing a katana sword, holding it in both hands and hunching over like he really wasn't sure what to do with it. Jaclyn was behind him, her mobile to her ear.

"I'd like to report a break-in," she was saying into it. She was looking at Merlin like she was afraid she'd lose sight of him if she even blinked.

"Put it down at get out!" Elliot ordered shakily.

Arthur sighed deeply. He bent his elbow and twirled his sword a few times in his wrist before leveling it again. His eyes dared Elliot to make the first move.

Elliot did, only it wasn't to initiate combat. Still holding the sword out with one hand, he used to other to pull his wife behind him. They backed up, leaving enough room for Arthur and Merlin to walk towards the door.

On the way out, Arthur pressed the tip of his sword to Elliot's and lowered it gently.

"Thank you," he told him. "Come on, Merlin."

As he brisked out, he realized Merlin was walking backwards again.

"William,  _what_  is going on?" he heard Jaclyn cry out.

"It's—it's hard to explain," said Merlin apologetically. "And my name's not really William. Sorry, but I'm trying not to lie anymore."

" _Merlin_!" Arthur shouted. He was already halfway down the stairs, and Merlin really needed to hurry up. They had to be gone before the police arrived.

With one more quick apology to the Bryants, Merlin rushed after Arthur.


	17. Chapter 17

The next morning, Arthur sat on a bench against the wall on the train platform. Every small movement caught his peripheral vision: a man striding aimlessly back and forth on the edge of the platform as he waited for his train to arrive, a mother straightening out her baby's blanket in its buggy, two kids loitering near the vending machines. They all looked harmless, but Arthur kept his duffle close to his feet and unzipped just in case he had to quickly pull out his sword.

His eyes turned to Merlin, who was paying at the ticket booth. Arthur couldn't hear his words, but he saw Merlin give a soft laugh and nod his head with a "ta" of finality as he collected the tickets. He looked so at ease, like he hadn't a care in the world. Like he hadn't just robbed his friend's home. Like they weren't on the way to destroy the organization they'd just escaped from. Like he hadn't created that organization in the first place.

Arthur felt sick, and he didn't think it had anything to do with the swelling in his head. He hadn't felt such distrust towards Merlin since Merlin first revealed his magic. The crushing reality that Merlin was a liar—more than that, a  _comfortable_  liar—weighed down on Arthur's chest.

He looked at his feet when Merlin shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and backed away from the ticket booth.

"Here," Merlin breathed when he reached the bench, holding out a train ticket for Arthur. Arthur didn't look at him as he took it. "Train should be here in fifteen."

Arthur read the ticket over, and he immediately realized something was wrong with it. "This is to Norwich," he told Merlin, brandishing the laminated paper. "We have to go to Devon."

"There's somewhere we have to go first," Merlin told him. "Scooch." He squeezed onto the end of the bench next to Arthur, elbowing Arthur to make him move over. Arthur didn't need to be told twice. He almost reflexively shuffled further down the bench to put some space between he and Merlin.

He was getting a headache again. He rested his elbows on his knees and leaned into his hands, trying to rub the dull pain from his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"Merlin,  _why_  are we going to Norwich?" he demanded with frustration after having given up on stifling the headache.

"There's someone there—a man. He's a sort of computer expert. I've been sending him all the research and data I have on the potion. It's more than just the formula Woo has. I need the formulas for the synthetics, the incantations, everything," Merlin explained. "He has about half of it, the rest is on the laptop back at Eleazar."

Arthur shook his head, not understanding. "Why'd you only send him half?"

Merlin laughed into a scoff. "I wanted to send him all of it, but I didn't exactly have a wealth of time, did I? Woo was always watching me, and, when I could sneak away, it wasn't for very long. And then I had to get you out of there before they cut you open, so I didn't have time to finish. I've just told you, it's a lot of data. If the potion had been simple, it wouldn't have taken me centuries to figure it out."

As he spoke, something dawned on Arthur: "That's where you  _really_  were all the times you said you were with Woo. You weren't just making trips to the prison." He surveyed Merlin closely, hoping it wasn't true, but Merlin's expression confirmed the worse. Arthur shook his head into a resentful breath. "You lied about lying."

"Yes," Merlin said simply. "It was the only time I could get to Wilt's office—to  _my_  office," he corrected when Arthur shot him a burning look, "to send the files."

"Why didn't you just destroy them?" Arthur wondered, deciding to look anywhere but Merlin. The man tooling around on the platform had gotten even closer to the ledge, and he walked circles around himself in boredom, or to keep from the cold; Arthur wasn't sure.

"I didn't think I needed to," Merlin said, leaning his back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest. He bounced his leg up and down. "You need magic to make the potion, and no one at Eleazar has that. No one in the  _world_  has magic anymore, just me," he went on, sounding sour. "Anyway, I thought it'd be safest in my office. Even if anyone got inside and found the formula, they wouldn't have been able to make it. But then they brought us in, and I thought there might be a possibility that Woo would find it and force me to make it. I had to transfer the files."

That still didn't answer Arthur's question, and it was starting to drill on his nerves. He gritted his teeth. "Then why didn't you destroy it this time? Wouldn't have that been easier?"

Merlin looked at him like that was the most absurd idea in the world. "It's my life's work, Arthur," he stressed.

Arthur couldn't understand it. It wasn't pride that was lining Merlin's features; it wasn't sentiment. And he didn't think Merlin cared very much about wasting time; he had enough of it, after all. Arthur wondered what the real reason for keeping the formula was, but he didn't ask. He couldn't stomach another lie.

Instead, he said, "Fine. Norwich, it is. This man we're meeting, do you trust him?"

Merlin pulled a face, shook his head, and shrugged. "Never even met him."

Arthur gaped and let out a few choked, angry sounds from his throat.

"He was one of the people I was e-mailing with about the legends," Merlin defended before Arthur could get too mad. "I remembered his website, so I got his contact information from it. I needed someone on the receiving end. He was the only option, Arthur."

"But how do you know you can trust him to keep quiet? He could have told anyone about it!" Arthur said with a raised voice, forgetting about those around. Merlin shushed him. "Tell me you—you encrypted the files or something," Arthur hoped, remembering a character having done that in some spy film.

Arthur must have grown a second head judging by the ridiculous way Merlin was looking at him. "Encrypted the—?  _No_! Encrypted the files . . . It's  _fine_ , all right?"

It wasn't fine, but Arthur reminded himself of his blood pressure. He took in a deep, calming breath. It didn't actually calm him at all. "Fine," he said again, making an effort to relax himself through willpower. "What's his name?"

A train was approaching. Arthur could hear it rumbling on the tracks.

"He's called Toby McAndrew."

* * *

It was raining. Not a downpour. It came down in chilly, slow clunks that freckled the shoulders of Arthur's jacket and seeped down the back of his neck. It dampened Merlin's hair, making it stick to his forehead so his ears looked even more pronounced than usual.

They'd taken a couple of strolls up and down the pavements, circling the McAndrew residence until they were sure Toby was home alone. There was one car parked on the street outside the charming, two floor cottage.

Arthur huddled into himself for warmth and focused on the heavy weight of his sword in the duffle he was holding at his side. He felt filthy and sticky with grime. If anyone else was in the house, he just wished they'd leave already.

"How are you feeling?" Merlin suddenly asked with a concerned tone.

Arthur shot him a glare out of the corners of his eyes. "I'm fine," he said as they once again came up on Toby's house. If they took another loop around the street, people would start to notice them.

"Hold on, look," Merlin hissed, stopping short and holding his arm in front of Arthur's chest to halt him, too.

Arthur followed his line of vision to Toby's front door, where a middle aged, heavyset woman was standing on the stoop. She unfolded her umbrella and teetered down the garden walk until she reached the car. Shortly, she got into it and drove off, right past Merlin and Arthur without even giving them a second glance. But they looked away to hide their faces as she went by just in case.

"Do you think he's alone now?" Arthur asked, peering back at the house with narrowed eyes.

"Hope so," Merlin said. "Hang on." His irises flashed golden, briefly coloring the skinny raindrops that fell around his face in an amber tint. When they faded back to normal color and luminosity, he said with certainty, "He's alone. Come on."

Arthur followed him across the street, right up to the front door. Merlin pounded on the green painted wood a few times and waited. For a moment, everything was quite, and Arthur checked behind himself to make sure no one was around. His attention was drawn forward again when he heard footsteps from within.

The door opened to a corpulent brunette man of about thirty. Arthur was expecting glasses and unkempt stubble, but it wasn't there. The Darth Vader t-shirt was, though.

"Um, hello?" the man asked a little unsurely.

"Toby?" asked Merlin, and got straight down to business when Toby nodded. "I'm Merlin; this is Arthur. You've been hanging on to some data for me, and I'm gonna need it back."

Toby had gone as white as paper. He didn't even look like he was breathing as his eyes rocketed back and forth between the men on his front stoop. Just as Arthur thought Toby might vomit, there was a thud. Toby had passed out.

Arthur's brows darted to his hairline in surprise.

Merlin thinned his lips and knitted his brows together in a humored but still sort of shocked way. " _Or_  you could faint."

"We have to get him inside," Arthur said, pushing past Merlin and stepping over Toby to get into the entranceway. He put the duffle bag down against the wall, knelt by Toby's shoulders, and tried lifting him up under his armpits. It made Arthur grunt; he wouldn't be able to move him alone.

He looked up at Merlin in impatience. "Well?" he demanded. "Help me get him to the couch!"

"Right," Merlin said, stepping into the house and bending down to hold Toby's legs. They lifted him on the count of three, and Merlin managed to kick the door closed on the way to the living area, a small room consisting of a ripped couch, a television, and a coffee table with Blurays piled high and two TV-dinner trays from the night before.

They were both out of breath by the time they heaved Toby's down on the sofa. Arthur rolled his shoulders to get the tingling sensation out of them.

"Okay, Toby, I'm gonna need you to wake up," Merlin sang, dropping down next to Toby's side and giving him a shake. "Rise and shine! Up and at 'em!"

He didn't seem to stir, which caused Arthur to take a deep, taut inhale and put his hands on his hips.

"Don't look at me; it's not  _my_  fault he passed out!" Merlin argued.

"Yes, well perhaps next time, don't lead with who we really are!" Arthur asserted, gesturing towards the unconscious form with an upturned palm.

"I'll get him up," Merlin guaranteed in an annoyed tone. He turned back to Toby and said a few words of magic. Like it had been poured from a bucket, a deluge of water seemed to come out of nowhere and splash Toby directly on the face.

Arthur reacted by instinctually jumping back and shielding himself from the water, but apparently it had done the trick because Toby sputtered and came to. As he lifted his head off the damp couch cushion, he still seemed dazed, but his eyes soon refocused on Merlin. They widened as they shot towards Arthur.

"Oh, god, you're still here," Toby thought aloud, but Arthur wasn't sure if his tone suggested excitement or terror. Maybe both? "Oh, god . . ."

He had gone very pale again, like he was going to drop back down to the cushion. Arthur was about to step in when Merlin said, "No, no—no more fainting." He helped Toby sit up and, once the man was situated, Merlin rose to his feet in front of him.

"Listen to me, Toby. I've been sending you some documents online—a formula?" Merlin reminded him. "Where are the files saved?"

Toby blinked up at Merlin in something close to awe. Arthur was stunned by how quick to believe Toby was, or maybe he just  _wanted_  to believe they were who they claimed to be.

" _You're_  William Smith?" he asked, dumfounded.

"Yes."

"The one who wrote the story on Arthur's return?"

"Yes."

Toby leaned in forward a little with an eager expression. "So, I was right? The story  _is_  true? He  _is_  real?"

"Not all the details are true, I'm certain," Arthur cut in with a dry tone, burning his glare into Merlin. He was aware that Toby's gaze had shifted towards him. And that's just what it was—a  _gaze_ , reverent and worshipful. It made Arthur a little uncomfortable, so he did his best not to make eye contact. "We don't have time for this," he told Merlin.

"I know," Merlin agreed. He gave Toby a patient, kind look. "Toby, where are the files saved? I  _need_  that half of the formula."

Shaking his head, as though to collect himself, Toby said, "Uh, my computer. It's in my bedroom. Why did you send it to me, anyway?"

"I had to keep it away from Eleazar."

Toby shot up suddenly, automatically making Arthur's guards go up. "Did you say Eleazar?" he exclaimed. He didn't wait for an answer before saying, "Come with me."

He led them out of the living area and up the stairs to the second level, which was a lot smaller than the first. It had what looked like two bedrooms, a cupboard, and a bathroom at the end of the short hallway. Toby opened the bedroom door on the left and stepped through. Arthur followed him through first.

It was a modest room, and Arthur was shocked at how normal it was. It was only a little messy, and had a bed shoved in the corner with a simple blue (not depicting any cartoons at all) duvet spread neatly on top of it. One window allowed them to look out at the street beyond, and raindrops currently trickled down to the pane. The walls were off-white and picture frames with photos of landscapes and smiling women and men of all ages hung sporadically. There was a bookshelf, a desk, and telly with a gaming console, its wires and controls splayed out in front of it, sitting on the carpet. It certainly wasn't the typical fanatic's bedroom depicted on TV.

There was only one uncommon element of Toby's room, and Arthur's eyes fell on it immediately after entering. The wall across from Toby's bed was filled with what looked like a cluster of pictures and color; but, upon looking closer, Arthur realized the collage was a mess of documents, black and white printed out sketches, and news articles, all connected by colored tape and string. He saw illustrations of knights on horseback, an old man with a pointed hat and wand, and a medieval castle. Then there were articles about Eleazar, dating back to the Ebola virus up to the most recent Cleansing. Arthur also caught sight of pictures of MPs and politicians.

At the center of it all was a drawing of a man holding a sword with a crown on his head. Arthur assumed that was meant to be him.

It seemed as though Toby had been working on his conspiracy theory for years now, and Arthur realized that all of it was because of him. He was aware that most people of this century had heard his story, or a version of it; he knew some schools even taught the legends. But this was all so real. Someone Arthur didn't even know had dedicated his life to him. It halted Arthur in his tracks.

" _Oh, fy duw_ ," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't sure whether to be impressed, flattered, or terrified.

Merlin trailed in behind him, and apparently he caught sight of the mind map from over Arthur's shoulder, because he stopped walking, too, and muttered, "Ho _ly_  shit." Arthur had to agree.

Toby had crossed his arms over his chest, looking smug. "Pretty cool, inn't?"

Actually, it was a little unnerving, but Arthur refrained from saying so.

"Uh . . ."

"Computer?" Merlin asked, apparently having recovered more quickly than Arthur.

"Right," Toby answered, crossing to the desk and opening his laptop. Merlin followed him to it and leaned over the keyboard as Toby started typing. Arthur only heard the clacking of the keys in the back of his head. He strode tentatively up to the wall to get a better look at everything. He noticed some passages from various legends had been cut out and taped to the wall as well.

He felt a presence at his side, and tore his eyes away from the map to find Toby standing nearby.

"What does all this mean?" Arthur asked, unable to rid himself of the curiosity.

Toby looked like he'd been waiting for someone to ask him that question and he couldn't believe it had finally happened. "It's the reason you're alive again, I think," he summarized before elaborating, "It's got to do with Eleazar. You already know who they are, right?" He looked over his shoulder at Merlin. "Knew that would get my attention, didn't you?" Merlin only gave him a half-glance from over the computer screen.

"Anyway,  _I_  think—well, me and my three thousand and sixty-four blog followers worldwide think," he boasted, making Arthur quirk a brow, "that the whole reason Eleazar Inc. was created was for you. They were called Once and Future Enterprises when they first started up. Most people don't know that . . . Er, did  _you_  know that?"

"I did," Arthur told him.

"Well, you're one of a few," Toby said. "Once and Future Enterprises, and  _you're_  the Once and Future King!" He gave Arthur's chest a friendly, over-excited slap with the back on his hand, causing Arthur to stare down at the spot with mild annoyance. The sensation lingered.

"Oh, sorry—er,  _sire_ ," Toby muttered sheepishly. He folded his hands behind his back like a scolded child, but Arthur said nothing. He forced a tight smile onto his face to encourage Toby to keep talking.

Getting the message, Toby turned back to the cluster and went on, "Publically, Eleazar says they're trying to cure diseases, right? But, look, there have been reports of them running tests on the dead bodies for months after the experimentation period is over." He pointed to a printed out blog post, and Arthur hardly thought that could be called a  _report_. Obviously having noticed his expression, Toby said, "It's nothing official, but they don't let reporters onto the base, do they? People have had to sneak in to get a look! At their own risk, mind you."

"People like you?" Arthur guessed.

Toby turned a shade of red. "No, not me. But people . . . You know. Just people. But I've been wanting to hack into their network for years! It'd be easier if I had someone on the inside."

Arthur remained silent and dubious.

Toby cleared his throat. "But it made me think, yeah," he continued in a tone that suggested he didn't want to lose his audience, "what does Eleazar need with dead bodies if they're trying to cure illnesses? I don't think they're doing that at all. I think what they're really looking for is a way to bring people back from the dead."

Arthur's eyes lit up. He hadn't expected Toby to have actually gotten anywhere with his theory.

"And what's that got to do with me?" he wondered.

"Because everyone else is just test subjects!" he exclaimed, encouraged by Arthur's interest. "What they really wanted was to bring  _you_  back. It's no secret that the government owns Eleazar, but I don't think they've got anything to do with the Department of Health. See, Eleazar is run by this one bloke, but no one's ever seen him before!" He pressed a chubby finger into a drawing of a man's silhouette with a question mark for a face until the skin around his nail turned white and red under the pressure. "They call him Dr. Wilt."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder towards the desk. Merlin shared the look through his eyelashes.

Toby didn't notice this. He was too enraptured with his own story. "But no one's ever heard of him, so how do we know he's real? The current theory," amongst Toby and his blog followers, Arthur presumed, "is that he isn't a man at all. It's a department within the government that's known the truth behind the legends for centuries! I think they've even had your body, frozen like Captain America, right? And Eleazar is their front as they figure out a way to bring you back."

Arthur almost felt disappointed. Toby had been  _so_  close. He was certain Merlin was struggling with his lips as to not burst into laughter, but Arthur didn't turn around again to check.

"I guess they succeeded," Toby said, convinced. He was giving Arthur that awe-stricken look again. "Is that what happened? Do you remember?" Not waiting for Arthur to respond, he pointed to Merlin. "Did they bring him back, too? What about the others? Lancelot? Gawaine?"

Arthur opened and closed his mouth a few times, stammering.

"I need to print this off," Merlin said from the desk, saving Arthur.

Toby rattled his head, as though coming awake again, and said, "Oh, uh—yeah. Printer's over here." He left Arthur behind and crossed to the bookshelf. The printer was situated on the middle shelf, and Toby clicked the power button. "It's wireless," he said.

Merlin nodded a thank you and bent back over the keyboard.

Toby returned his attention to Arthur, still waiting on an answer.

"Never mind about all that," Arthur told him vaguely. There were more important things on his mind than coming up with a white lie. The less Toby knew, the better. "Who have you told about this formula Merlin sent you?"

Toby shrugged and pulled a face. "No one, honest," he swore.

Arthur wasn't sure whether or not to believe him, but Merlin seemed to. " _Really_?" he asked, shocked. Both Toby and Arthur turned their necks towards him. "No one?"

"Um, no?" Toby said. And then with a jolt, "Why, did you want me to?"

Merlin blinked a few times. "No, I—Well, I just thought you might." He chuckled a little unsurely. "No offence, but I didn't expect anyone to believe you if you  _did_  tell them. You're a bit of a crackpot."

Toby's mouth fell open, and he looked wounded. Arthur wasn't sure how a person  _wasn't_  supposed to be offended by that. He shot Merlin a "behave yourself" glare before turning sympathetic eyes on Toby, who now looked half-hurt, half-angry.

"Well, I  _thought about_  posting it!" he said like it was a retrospective threat. "But you hadn't sent me everything yet. And it was all encrypted, anyway."

Arthur upturned his palm to Toby like he'd just proven his point.

The printer kicked into life.

"They weren't encrypted!" Merlin groaned. He left the desk and started for the printer. "They were  _enchantments_ , my god!" He shoved between Arthur and Toby on his way, until he finally reached the bookshelf. He started collecting the printed pages in his hands.

"Enchantments?" Toby repeated into a condescending snort of laughter. "What like  _magic_?"

Merlin shot him a warning glare out of the corners of his eyes, and it stilled Toby. He looked at Arthur for confirmation, and Arthur flapped his arms against his sides in a shrug.

"Seriously? All that was real, too?" It seemed there  _were_  limits to Toby's belief in the impossible. "But, wait—how could Eleazar use magic? Are they really witches? Like the druids from the legends!"

"No," Merlin huffed, apparently having had enough of Toby's guessing game. "No one in Eleazar knew my main objective was to bring Arthur back. Neither did the Department of Health. They just thought we were looking to end illnesses."

"And bring people back from the dead," Arthur supplied.

"Yes," said Merlin. "But that's it."

"Wait,  _your_?" Toby wondered. Arthur practically saw the cogs on his mind spinning. It impressed him how quickly Toby caught on to things.

"Yes," Merlin said again, keeping his attention on the pages filling into his hands. He already had a small stack, but they kept coming. "I created Eleazar as a way to bring Arthur back to life."

Toby jerked his head back in shock. He'd worked it out. " _You're_  Dr. Wilt?" he shouted. "Like Wyllt—with a Y. Myrddin Wyllt. Merlin of the Wild, that's one of the things you were called in the legends!"

Merlin didn't answer. He didn't have to. Arthur felt his chest constrict as he glowered at Merlin under the realization. "You'd  _really_  put thought into all this," he nagged, crossing his arms tightly.

Toby didn't seem as upset by it. He shook his head at Merlin in wonder. "You've been living a double life? Blimey, to think of your organizational skills . . ."

Arthur shot him a glare as though to tell him he wasn't helping. When Toby saw it, he straightened out and trained a reprimanding look onto his features. "I mean, that's very bad. Shame on you."

Both Arthur and Merlin ignored him, and for a while all that could be heard was the sound of the printer whirling.

"So, that formula was what brought him back?" Toby broke the quiet. "You figured that out on your own."

Merlin's expression remained blank as he nodded.

"Wow, you're like—some kind of genius, aren't you?"

" _Finally_!" Merlin cried out liked he'd been waiting all his life for someone to recognize his talents, but at the same time Arthur deadpanned, "He's not."

Arthur uncrossed his arms to rub at his eyes. He was starting to feel that headache again, and wondered if he should take more medication. Instead, he eyed the ever-growing pile in Merlin's hands. It was almost novel-sized. "A lot of information," was an understatement on Merlin's part, and with each new page jutting out of the printer, Arthur felt a growing sense of apprehension.

"Merlin, this potion isn't going to make everyone like you, is it?" he asked, finally voicing his concern. He was including himself in  _everyone_.

"What do you mean?"

"Is it going to make them immortal?" Arthur spelled out, although he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He supposed he  _had_  to know. He had to prepare himself to stare eternity down the barrel.

" _Immortal_?" Toby exclaimed. They paid him no mind.

Merlin furrowed his eyebrows. "No, of course not," he said. "All it'll do is heal them."

"And bring them back to life," Toby offered excitedly.

"Yes, thank you, Toby," said Merlin. "That's how the potion works. It targets white blood cells and the parts of the brain that deal with things like—"

"Consciousness and vital functions," Arthur said, remembering what Scott had told him.

"Yeah. It gets those functions up and running, like turning over an engine, and everything else follows. Really, the white blood cell thing was just a side effect; I wasn't trying to cure anything. But it doesn't make you live forever. The potion would have to be readministered at some point. I wouldn't give hundreds of people immortality, Arthur." He rolled his eyes. "They wouldn't know what to do with it."

Maybe Arthur was reading too much into what Merlin was saying, like he'd been doing over the last few days—analyzing and calculating every word and behavior—but Merlin didn't seem too happy that the formula didn't give the recipient eternal life. There was something disheartened in his eyes, like he'd somehow let himself down.

He  _wanted_  to find immortality in liquid form. He wanted that for Arthur.

"That's why you really kept the formula, isn't it?" Arthur realized. "So you could use it again on me the next time I die."

Merlin had forgotten about the printing pages. They drifted downwards to the floor while Merlin's silence pleaded with Arthur.

Arthur couldn't look at him. He turned his head away and shook it. His headache was pounding now, beating like a hammer against his skull.

"How selfish can you be, Merlin?" he roared. He would burst at the seams if he didn't finally expel his frustration and mistrust like a poison. "How many times are you planning on doing that?"

"I don't know."

"Are you just going to be bring me back every time I die!"

"I don't know!" Merlin shouted, his voice thick. He slumped his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair before returning it to the pile. "I hadn't really thought about it! I thought—I don't  _know_! I wanted to keep it just in case. For insurance!"

" _Insurance_?" Arthur boomed. The room was beginning to spin dizzyingly. "You can't just play with life and death, Merlin! All you ever think about is yourself—!"

"That's not true."

Arthur felt a little unsteady. The only thing keeping him upright was his infuriation.

"You can't keep this up, Merlin! You can't—"

The pain in his head became too much. He clutched at his temple and wobbled a little, like his legs could no longer hold him.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted distantly in a worried, echoing voice. He dropped the pile in his hands and rushed forward. Arthur felt Merlin grab at his torso to keep him upright, and Arthur allowed Merlin to support him.

"Where's the duffle bag? Arthur?" Merlin asked, clearly trying not to panic. Arthur didn't answer. His eyes were feeling very heavy, and he tried to keep himself from closing them.

"Toby, go downstairs and get our bag! Go!"

Arthur heard rushing footfalls pound in unison with his head. It made him wince. He felt like someone had cracked his skull open with a sword.

"And some water!" Merlin shouted after Toby.

"Alright. It's alright, Arthur," Merlin cooed. Arthur stumbled against him, and he vaguely realized he was no longer on his feet. He was sitting on the edge of Toby's bed with Merlin kneeling between his knees.

"Just look at me, Arthur," Merlin was saying in a soft, soothing voice. One firm hand was gripping Arthur's shoulder to keep him upright while the other tenderly stroked his hair and cheeks.

Arthur found he wasn't angry anymore. He surveyed Merlin through the haze. Merlin's eyes weren't cold and distant anymore. They were big and terrified, like every nightmare he'd ever had was playing before him, but he was trying so hard not to give in to them. Arthur had sometimes seen that controlled fright in him in Camelot, but he never fully understood extent of that fear. His hair was askew, somehow taking years off of his worry-lined face. His Adam's apple bobbed with hard swallows.

Arthur had never seen anything so small and delicate, so desperate.

Merlin couldn't watch Arthur die again. He wouldn't be able to bear it. The pain would be more than psychological or emotional. Arthur thought it would kill Merlin, but he couldn't die. What might living with that grief be like—that pain beyond bereavement? He suddenly understood why Merlin had done the things he'd done. Arthur, with perfect clarity, realized that Merlin had done everything for him. He had turned into this—a liar, a killer—for him. Toby's dedication was nothing compared to Merlin's.

This was Arthur's fault. He felt his heart take new root in his throat, and for a moment he forgot his pain.

"What have I done to you?" Arthur said, just above a whisper.

Merlin looked as though he didn't understand.

A stampede sounded down the hallway, and seconds later Toby fell through the door, panting and wheezing. He had the duffle bag held in one hand and a half-spilled out glass of water in the other. Droplets still cascaded down the sides and dripped off his fingers.

"I found—I have—," he stammered between heavy breaths.

Merlin ripped himself away from Arthur and rushed to Toby to collect the bag. He dropped it on the carpet and ruffled through it wildly. Soon enough, he found the pill bottle and uncapped it as he brought it over.

"Here," he offered, pouring two pills into Arthur's palm and kneeling down again. Arthur slapped his hand to his lips and choked them down.

"Just relax," Merlin whispered. He smiled a little sadly as he added, "No more yelling." Something heavy dropped into Arthur's stomach.

Toby appeared at their side, still breathing heavily, and held out the water for Arthur to take. Arthur didn't really want it. He thought he wouldn't be able to swallow it now, but Toby looked so lost and panicked, so he relieved him of the glass, gave a thankful, silent toast and downed a few gulps. Merlin looked calmer for it, too.

There was silence, and Arthur realized that the papers had stopped printing.

"Is he okay?" Toby asked tentatively. Arthur heard the words behind them:  _What's the matter with him_?

Merlin didn't answer. The mask was back. His features returned to neutral before Arthur's eyes, like a switch had been turned off in him, and turned to Toby. "Do you have the formula saved anywhere else but your laptop?"

Toby shook his head, seeming thrown by the change of topic. "What? No."

Merlin muttered a word of magic, and his eyes lit up. At first, Arthur thought Merlin had done something to Toby, but then the laptop on the desk gave a loud bang and plumes of gray smoke filtered upwards from it.

"Hey!" Toby shouted, spinning his head from Merlin to the desk and back again a few times. Arthur thought he was going to have a heart attack. Although, it seemed he was more upset about his computer than he was about Merlin's magic, and Arthur supposed that spoke a lot to the mentality of this century. "No! That had all my stuff on it!"

Merlin didn't seem to care. He started collecting the pages of the document from the floor and setting them into a haphazard pile. "Do you have a car?" he asked as he did so.

"A what?"

"A car? A vehicle!"

Toby jumped, spooked. "Uh—yeah, in the garage."

"We need it," Merlin told him blatantly. "We have to get to Devon and we shouldn't keep taking public transport."

"But . . . it was my dad's," Toby argued meekly.

Merlin was about to open his mouth again, but Arthur stopped him by standing up to be level with Toby. He felt a dizzying rush in his head, but he ignored it. "We'll return the car, you have my word," he promised, clapping his palm on Toby's shoulder. "And we'll replace your computer."

"What!" Merlin yelled, hugging the disorganized stack to his chest as he shot to his feet. "Oh, we're just  _made_  of money now, are we?"

"We  _will_ ," Arthur assured Toby. "We just need your help one more time, Toby."

Toby looked astonished, and almost giddy again. He was honored to assist King Arthur; he probably thought he'd be knighted. "The keys are downstairs."

They followed him down to the kitchen, where he picked the car keys out of a dish on the counter, and through the door to the garage. Inside was a small sedan with a cover over it. When Toby removed it, dust came off.

"Don't know if she has a full tank," Toby told them apologetically. "What am I gonna tell my mum when she sees it's missing?"

"With all the thought you put into your work upstairs," Arthur told him, "I'm sure you'll think of something." Toby blushed.

Arthur placed the duffle in the backseat, and Merlin put the documents in the boot for safe keeping before walking by Toby and snatching the keys from him before he'd even noticed what happened.

"Uh—alright, well," Toby stammered. He pushed a button on the wall and the garage door started opening, letting in the windy chill and splattering sounds of the now heavy rain.

Arthur fit into the passenger side while Merlin slid behind the wheel of the car. He turned the keys in the ignition, and Arthur was relieved to hear the engine start up.

"Good luck with—er. What is it you said you were doing again?" Toby asked.

Merlin slammed the car door shut without answering and reversed out of the garage.

* * *

They reached Dartmoor after nightfall and picked one of the tiny villages on its northernmost tip to stay in for the night. The cobblestone roads of the village square were deserted for such an early hour, and Arthur tried his best to attribute that to the rain. It could be seen falling down in sideways sheets around the dim streetlamps, which hung their heads as though trying to hide from view, and mist drifted in front of their headlights.

The tires whooshed through a deep puddle, causing a loud spray that suddenly broke the silence and made Arthur jump slightly.

Shortly after, Merlin parked the car in front of a stone-faced pub and inn, and Arthur braced himself to get drenched. Just wanting to get it over with, he opened the door, and fat drops immediately pounded into the interior, making it slippery. Arthur jumped out of the seat and curled in on himself, like that would protect him at all from the rain. He slammed the car door behind him, rushed to the pub's arched entranceway on the other side of the pavement, and waited for Merlin to catch up.

Merlin didn't seem as bothered by the rain. He moved casually, opening the back door to retrieve the duffle before moving to the boot. He opened it halfway so the papers wouldn't get soaked, and he shoved the stack into the bag for protection.

Arthur listened to the wind howl as it whipped around the buildings.

"I'm starved," Merlin told him when he reached the door, too, wet as a dog. "Come on, let's see if they're got a room."

Arthur hoped so. He wondered if the empty streets meant the building would be packed; however, when they went inside, there were only a few patrons sitting around in the lowlight, murmuring with one another over pints.

Arthur was tasked with ordering food and drinks and getting them a table while Merlin talked to reception in the next room over. The first thing he saw written on the chalkboard menu over the counter was gammon, so he ordered two plates, and brought their pints to a table in the corner, far away from the windows.

He didn't realize how thirsty he'd been, and he was nearly down to the dregs of his pint by the time Merlin sat across from him.

"We're on the first floor," he said, placing a key ring down on the table. It had a plastic keychain with the number 1B on it. Arthur nodded down at it.

He didn't like being so close to Eleazar. He felt like they'd break down the door any second with dozens of men with swords. But perhaps things like that didn't happen anymore.

There were miles of nothing but hills and rocks between this village and Eleazar's base, but Arthur felt as though he were on their doorstep. The sensation hovered over him with an encroaching darkness. He took another gulp.

"Relax, Arthur," Merlin leaned in and whispered.

Arthur shot him a warning glare before remembering the abandoned expression Merlin wore back at Toby's house. It was still hidden behind his blank features now; Arthur was sure of it. He searched for it.

An attendant came by and placed their food in front of them, and Merlin dug in right away. Arthur wasn't very hungry, but he ate for show.

* * *

The bed in room 1B wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world. In fact, it didn't even come close, but at least it was a bed. Arthur was glad to have a private place to spend the next few hours, even if Eleazar's shadow still hung over them. He took a long shower, and probably used up all the hot water in the process, and tucked himself under the covers.

Chatter and clanging sounds filtered up through the floorboards from the kitchen below them, and the ceiling creaked every time whoever was in the room above theirs walked around. Arthur didn't mind it so much. It was nice to know the village wasn't a ghost town, after all.

Merlin was on the other side of the room, which was so small that he was actually just at the foot of the bed, setting up a makeshift bed of a pillow and throw blanket on the armchair next to the window. He was dressed for sleep in the t-shirt he'd worn during the day and boxer shorts. Arthur propped himself up on his side and studied the rigid line of Merlin's shoulders for a while, but Merlin never turned around despite knowing he was being watched.

"You don't have to do that," Arthur told him, and it surprised even him. Arthur hadn't said much to Merlin since they left Toby's house. In fact, Arthur wasn't certain he'd said anything at all.

Merlin peered over his shoulder but continued to fiddle with the blanket. "Do what?"

"Sleep on the chair," Arthur elaborated. "You'll need a good night's rest for tomorrow. Just—sleep here." Arthur shuffled closer to one side of the bed to give Merlin more room. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the stucco ceiling, letting Merlin make up his own mind.

For a pause, nothing happened, and Arthur was sure Merlin had chosen the chair, but then the mattress dipped. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin lie down on his back and fold his hands together on his chest like a body in a coffin.

Arthur turned on his side and folded his hands beneath his cheek. He watched Merlin's chest rise and fall and his eyelashes flutter when he blinked. He could tell Merlin was resisting looking back, but eventually his will faded. He mirrored Arthur's position. Neither of them could close their eyes for very long, despite how sleepy Arthur suddenly felt, and neither of them moved to turn off the lamp on the nightstand.

"Are you feeling any better?" Merlin asked softly after a stretch of silence.

Arthur supposed it was kind of Merlin to keep worrying over him. Merlin wouldn't see it as kind, though; it was just something he'd always done.

"For now," Arthur told him. "I'll feel better once tomorrow is over." He really wanted to say, " _Once we've put all this behind us_." He wondered if they ever could.

"Arthur, you're not to blame," said Merlin, like he'd wanted to say it for hours. "Don't think you are. I am." He had a hint of that lonely and vulnerable look, this time mixed with remorse, cracking to the surface of his features again. Arthur felt a surge of fondness at the expression. It was a sad one, but it reminded him of the Merlin he knew when Arthur was just a prince who'd been saved from a flying dagger to the heart by a peasant boy from Ealdor.

Arthur pressed in closer and kissed him slowly. Merlin parted his lips for Arthur almost immediately, and his tongue dancing around Arthur's was warm and inviting. Without breaking away, Arthur lifted himself up so Merlin would roll onto his back. Merlin spread his fingers on both of Arthur's cheeks as they shifted, like he didn't want Arthur to leave him; so Arthur deepened the kiss to prove Merlin had nothing to fear.

He already felt a fire brewing in his lower abdomen. It had been waiting to be lit for months. Arthur slid his hand down Merlin's stomach and into the front of his shorts to check if Merlin was burning, too.

Merlin jolted slightly from the contact and gasped into Arthur's mouth. He broke away from the kiss by seeping his head further into the pillow. "No, you can't," he said, even though he seemed pained by it. He wrapped both hands around Arthur's wrist and tried to pull it up, but Arthur fought back.

He couldn't take his eyes off Merlin's lips, already swollen and glistening.

"We have to think about that head of yours," Merlin went on, swallowing hard, at war with his libido. "No over-exerting yourself."

"Then I won't over-exert myself," Arthur said matter-of-factly. He shoved his hand further downwards to grope Merlin. Merlin let out a sharp, shaky breath and his eyes went out of focus. Arthur hummed into a grin as he noticed Merlin's pupils expand, and, really, he was just too easy sometimes. "Don't be quick about it. We have all night."

And, if they failed tomorrow, they might not get another chance.

Arthur kneaded his palm into the base of Merlin's groin as it began to swell and planted kisses down his neck. He tasted like the hotel's soap, and his pale skin was flushed all over.

"' _N_   _glws_   _ac_   _yn_   _araf_ ," Arthur said between kisses to demonstrate his point.

Arthur's toes were curling, and the heat in his stomach was dropping ever lower. It drove him closer to Merlin's hip, making Arthur grind leisurely up and down his side.

Merlin's skin vibrated when he spoke with a thick voice, "I thought you were mad at me."

Arthur gave a mock-thoughtful hum and pulled a face. "Maybe I'm willing to forgive you," he teased. Merlin gave him stunned and hopeful eyes, which made Arthur roll his own and chortle. He withdrew his hand from below to wrap both his arms around Merlin's torso. He rolled them over so Merlin way lying down on top of him, and the sudden unexpected rush cracked a grin onto Merlin's cheeks. Arthur was happy to see it, but he was happier to press kisses to it.

"Do you still have that stuff you got off the prisoners?" Arthur asked, and Merlin nodded hastily.

"It's still in my clothes in the bag."

He picked himself off of Arthur to get the duffle next to the chair, but Arthur quickly sat up and folded his arms around Merlin's waist. He pulled him back down onto his lap and wouldn't let go no matter how much Merlin squirmed.

"Arthur!" he tried to scold, but he was shaking with mirth. "Let me get it! Let me go!"

Arthur responded by kissing down the back of his neck and along his hairline. He bounced Merlin a little on his lap, which probably teased him more than it did Merlin.

Merlin kept laughing. He dipped his neck back to rest his head on Arthur's shoulder, so Arthur nibbled into the exposed flesh there. "How am I supposed to reach the bag?"

"You'll figure something out, I'm sure," Arthur answered like it wasn't his problem.

Merlin elbowed him playfully in the ribs. Right after, he picked his head back up and glared intensely at the duffle. He outstretched his palm towards it and said a single word. The duffle flew through the air towards him like it had been tossed. He caught it against his chest and looked over his shoulder at Arthur with a smug grin.

Arthur raised his brows to silently say, " _Told you you'd think of something clever_."

As Merlin unzipped the bag and rifled through it, Arthur worked on turning his neck raw. He swayed Merlin from side to side and snaked one palm downward to grope him again through the fabric of his shorts. It made Merlin forget the duffle and angle his neck around to catch Arthur's lips with his own. Merlin smirked into the kiss, and Arthur let out rumbling, happy noises from the bottom of his throat.

Eventually, they contained themselves long enough for Merlin to find the condom and small bottle of lube in the bag; and for Arthur to take off his shirt in the meantime. Merlin released himself from Arthur's grasp to turn around to face him. He stayed on his hands and knees over Arthur to get better access to his lips. He tossed the bag off the bed, and it thudded when it hit the floor, reminding Arthur that his sword was still in there.

"Careful with that," Arthur reprimanded out of the corner of his mouth as Merlin kissed him.

"Sorry," Merlin said, not really meaning it.

Arthur leaned away and shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "That's just one too many apologies, Merlin."

Merlin mocked offense. He sat back on his ankles and shoved Arthur away. Arthur bounced a little as his back hit the mattress.

"Stay still! No exerting yourself,  _remember_?" Merlin disciplined. "Doctor's orders."

Arthur looked amused as he propped himself up by the elbows. " _Right_ ," he played along. "Anything else I should watch out for,  _Doctor_?"

Merlin bit his lower lip in consideration and dragged his splayed out fingers up Arthur's chest in admiration. "Not sure," he said. "I'll just have to examine you some more."

Arthur couldn't believe he'd actually just said that. His eyes bulged and his mouth hung open in a humored grin. He let out a single, loud " _ha_!" which was followed by an eruption of low giggles.

"You are  _such_  an idiot!" Arthur yelled in hysterics. Merlin blushed, but he crumpled with laughter like he knew Arthur was right.

He fell into Arthur's chest, draping himself there to work red marks into the prickled skin.


	18. Chapter 18

There was no way for Arthur to tell where he was. All he saw was deep, black darkness. He kept his eyes open, anyway. He wrapped his palms tighter around the hilt of his sword and tried focusing on its weight on his torso instead of anything else. It wasn't easy. Underneath him, he felt the rocking of the truck and the hard dips whenever the tires caught a ditch. He tried not to react to any of the movements in case someone else was in the back of the lorry—someone living. Someone who was not Merlin.

Merlin had cast a spell on Arthur so he wouldn't have to breathe. Arthur wished Merlin had just put him to sleep instead, but he supposed they hadn't been in there long enough to warrant that. It felt like hours, but it must have only been a few minutes. The ride from Eleazar's morgue to the prison gate wasn't that long, after all.

Arthur heard the lorry's breaks squeak as they came to a stop. It had been the second stop in two minutes. He supposed the first was when they cleared the gate, and he wondered where they were now. Merlin had said all the bodies eventually ended up in the prison camp, and Arthur wondered why that was. Perhaps Eleazar made the prisoners bury the dead.

There was a creaking whine as the backdoors of the lorry opened, but the material around him allowed no light in. Arthur heard some voices, and footsteps resonated on the metal on his back.

More voices.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

Shuffling.

Loud, close footsteps.

Someone was manhandling Arthur. In fact, it was two someones, one at his shoulders and the other at his feet. He tried to remain as limp as possible, to let his body sag. He had to fight himself when his instincts told him to go stiff as board. The vinyl around him crinkled loudly in his ears and pressed up cold against his nose and cheeks. He tried not to blow or swat it away.

Soon enough, after being passed around and twisted into awkward positions, he was laid down again. He tried to sigh with relief, but nothing came out and he remembered he wasn't breathing. He really wished he could. Not being able to reminded him of the day he returned. He thought of that day as little as possible, but the recent events kept it at the forefront of his mind.

Shaking the memories away, he continued to listen as the muffled voices prattled on. The footsteps didn't reverberate through the floor anymore, telling him he must be on stone or concrete.

A few moments later, he heard the truck doors slam closed, and the its engine kicked into life.

He waited.

The vinyl was zipped open with a rushing sound. It was pulled back to reveal dim florescent lights on a high ceiling. They made Arthur wince as his stinging eyes adjusted, and he sat up. Instantly, his breath returned to him, causing a coughing fit that lasted a few seconds until he became reacquainted with the air in his lungs. He was hyperaware of his breathing, like it was a manual process.

Merlin was sitting on his ankles next to Arthur, searching him as though to check for any visible signs of damage. Arthur looked past him at the row of black body bags lined up on the floor. The one Merlin had been in was the only one without a lump inside.

Behind the row, there was a large steel machine with what looked like a conveyor belt attached to it. The bulk of the machine had a chimney that stretched up to the ceiling. It didn't appear to be on.

"Where are we?" Arthur asked, stretching out his stiff muscles. He stood up as quickly as he could without betraying his feelings about getting into the body bag in the first place.

He'd put on a brave, nonchalant face when Merlin first presented the idea. On the inside, he had dreaded it. It was like the MRI scanner but worse—a bit too confined, like a coffin six feet under. He had no interest in knowing what a body went through after death, especially since he'd already been through it once before.

That morning, they had changed back into the clothes Eleazar provided them with, snuck into the base, and went right for the morgue. Merlin had made a hole in the links of the fence, which was a lot quicker and easier with magic, and Arthur led them to the building out of view of the CCTV cameras. At first, Arthur wondered why they didn't just sneak into the prison in the first place, but he supposed there'd be more surveillance in that section of the base.

Merlin thought he was being clever when he told Arthur they'd have to "Trojan Horse" their way inside. His face fell when Arthur kinked his brow, not getting the joke.

Arthur scanned around for any signs of life. The room they were in was huge and looked like a warehouse, a lot like the first room he'd seen in the mortuary. There were no guards or orderlies around, so Arthur let his sword drop to his side.

He scrutinized the machine again, regarding it as though it were one of the enormous creatures of magic that would wreak havoc on Camelot. If he was curious as to why the bodies ended up in the prison before, now he was just unnerved.

"What's that for?" he asked when he was fully on his feet, nodding towards the machine. Merlin followed him slowly to a stand, holding his hands out in case Arthur swayed or fell or mortally wounded himself by tripping over his own feet. Arthur tried not to snip at him for it, but he wished Merlin wouldn't coddle him when they were in middle of a break-in.

"It's an incinerator," Merlin said, barely glancing over his shoulder as the metal beast.

Arthur jerked his head forward in surprise, "A  _what_?" A spike of anger hit his heart. Eleazar didn't even bother burying their patients. Burning corpses used to be an honorable send-off, but a mass grave would have been more respectful than turning these people to ash via a conveyor belt.

"Not my idea," Merlin reminded him softly, but he wasn't able to keep Arthur's gaze. Collecting himself, he paced towards the incinerator and knelt down close to the underbelly. Arthur watched him with narrowed eyes as Merlin casted a few spells on it.

"Why not just give the bodies back to their families?" Arthur asked, moving closer to him. He eyed the cold incinerator suspiciously, expecting it to turn on at any given moment. "Why burn them like this?"

Merlin seemed to be concentrating hard. Both palms were extended towards the machine, and his eyes were closed. Still, he answered, "Fisher is still in the body's system, just sitting there, after death. Apparently, the placebo is, too. They'd be found in the autopsy."

Arthur snorted bitterly. "It's to get rid of the evidence, then," he interpreted. "I held this organization of yours in higher esteem when I thought it was sinister, not pusillanimous, too."

Merlin opened his eyes and dropped his hands to his side to give Arthur an impressed, yet bemused look. "Your English has improved," he said.

Arthur blinked. He supposed it had, probably because he had little to do the last few months apart from reading. The realization gave him a slight swell of pride, but he pushed it away when he remembered what they were in the middle of.

"Can we just get on with it?" he snipped.

"Yes," said Merlin right away. "It's done. We'd better get out of here. There's someone we need to find. He'll help get everything into motion, but we need to hurry." He strode towards the other side of the building, and Arthur hurried to walk at his side. "We don't have long until they fire this thing up—," he nodded behind them, "and then we'll have a hell of party."

"What did you do to it?" Arthur asked, casting a concerned look over his shoulder as they reached the door.

"It'll explode when it's turned on."

Arthur was a little impressed. He pulled a face that Merlin couldn't see as Arthur followed him through the threshold into the overcast day. The sun bouncing off the clouds made the air surrounding them thick and gray.

"Not a bad distraction," Arthur allowed.

Merlin pulled a smug face. "If there's one thing I'm good at, it's distractions."

Arthur hummed mockingly.

They crept along the buildings' walls until the prison yard came into view. Beyond it was the gate leading towards the rest of the base. Not many prisoners were outside, but Arthur saw more guards than he cared for patrolling the perimeter. Even from the distance, he could see their stun guns in their holsters. It made him reflexively level his sword, but Merlin reached out and gently guided it back down.

"Leave that for now," he whispered. "You can't waltz into a prison with a weapon."

Arthur peered back around the wall at the guards. "They certainly have."

"Don't be difficult."

He wasn't happy about it, but he set his sword down on the grass next to the wall. He didn't expect anyone would find it, but that didn't seem to help his uneasiness when he followed Merlin around the corner and into the yard.

The guards barely cast them glances as they walked across the yard and into the tall, brick building. Arthur wondered if Merlin had used magic to aid them along unnoticed, but he guessed the guards didn't trouble themselves with learning faces. He and Merlin were in Eleazar clothing, and that was good enough for them.

The inside of the building was darker and grayer than the overcast sky. One long corridor stretched the length of the ground floor, ending in large windows, if they could be called that. They were too reinforced to allow any visibility to the outside. The rooms on that floor were mostly offices or security stations. As they walked down the hallway, they passed an open door whose room housed a wall of monitors. Out of the corner of his eyes, Arthur saw black and white images of various locations. He wondered if this is where they monitored all of Eleazar, including the room in which Arthur and Merlin slept.

He'd never actually thought of a real person being on the other end of those cameras.

There was a stairwell halfway down the hallway, and they took it to the first floor. The stairs left them off in the prison's canteen, which was much more lively than downstairs. Prisoners were seated at tables, walking through the isles, and standing in a queue for food with trays between their hands. Behind the buffet, more prisoners were serving them. A guard was posted on every wall, each standing straight-backed and looking intimidating; however, Arthur recognized the far off, bored look in their eyes. They reminded him of the sentries in Camelot.

He and Merlin grabbed trays and stood in the breakfast queue. Arthur peered around, wondering which of these men was the one they'd come to see. It was no use trying to guess, there were too many in the room. In fact, they were all men.

"Where are all the women?" Arthur leaned forward and whispered into Merlin's ear.

"On the opposite side of the campus," Merlin whispered back.

Arthur rolled his eyes as they moved forward in the queue. "God forbid they trust people to be adults," he murmured.

Merlin snickered. "I think that's what they're trying to prevent."

"Ah, is  _that_  why they wouldn't let you and me be proper cellmates?"

"You really think a glass wall would stop me?"

After they collected their breakfast—which Merlin claimed was oatmeal but didn't actually look like food—Arthur trailed along as Merlin scanned for his contact.

"There he is," Merlin said, nodding towards a table in the center of the room. It was empty at one end except for one man, whom Arthur immediately recognized. It was Bonkers Bobby, the mad homeless man from Glastonbury.

Arthur yanked Merlin's shoulder back to stop him from walking.

" _Him_?" he hissed, suddenly frustrated. " _That's_  your inside man? Bonkers Bobby!"

Merlin sighed patiently. "Yeah. He got picked up in jail during the Cleansing."

Arthur remembered the day before the Cleansing, when he was arrested. He'd shared a holding cell with Bobby.

"He's a drunkard, Merlin," Arthur said, trying to reason with him. This had to be some kind of joke.

"I'm not gonna judge a man for how he gets through the day, Arthur," Merlin retorted. When he saw that wasn't enough for Arthur, he continued, "Did you ever stop to listen to what he was preaching? 'Course you didn't. No one did. Didn't you wonder why I told you to keep away from him? He was talking about Eleazar—trying to get people against them."

Arthur exhaled. He tried not to think about the lengths Merlin took to keep him ignorant about Eleazar. How long had he expected Arthur to stay in the dark?

"Fine," he conceded. "You better know what you're doing."

"Almost never," Merlin joked, but Arthur was certain it was the truth. Still, he followed Merlin to the table and they placed their trays across from Bonkers Bobby.

Bobby didn't look up at them. He didn't seem to notice they were there. Arthur raised a brow at him and curled his nose at the sudden odor of dead fish and ale. He wondered if there were showers in the prison, or if years on the streets had left a permanent stench on Bobby.

"Who's your friend?" Bobby suddenly asked, still not looking up. His voice sounded rusty, nothing like the powerful shouts Arthur had heard from him in Glastonbury. Perhaps Bobby had been treated with the placebo for his illness.

Merlin sat down on the bench, and Arthur followed in suit. However, Merlin didn't answer the question. "It's time," he said instead.

Bobby finally looked up at them from his oatmeal. His eyes danced from Merlin to Arthur gravely, and they suddenly lit up on Arthur's face. "I know you! Seen you jogging around town," he said with a yellow-toothed grin.

Arthur realized he was grimacing and quickly tamed his muscles.

"Now, why should I trust you?" Bobby asked, twirling his spoon in Arthur's direction. "You're always too busy running. Always running away from me—and from the truth."

"I'm sorry about that," Arthur said politically, even though he didn't mean it. "Had I known what I do now, I would have listened—," he suddenly realized he had no idea how to address the man.  _Bonkers Bobby_  was probably offensive. Arthur didn't even know if Bobby was the man's real name. However, he cleared his throat and took a gamble, "Bobby."

Bobby's face tensed. "It's Robert," he corrected. "And I bet a lot of people would listen if they knew I was right, eh? Not so bonkers now! People in here listen to me!"

"Quiet," Merlin hissed, and Bobby settled. "We're all here for the same thing. What happened before doesn't matter." Arthur wondered if Merlin actually believed that.

"Suppose," Bobby grumbled. "So, it's today, then? You got our distractions ready?"

Merlin nodded. "It should go off within the half hour. Your people know what to do?"

"I've told 'em," Bobby assured. "I'll let them know to prepare for it. Should be harder to get word to the women's side with such sort notice, but we'll manage. We've been ready for weeks; just waiting on you."

"I know," Merlin apologized.

Bobby looked back to the half-eaten slop on his tray. "Go do the rest of your part, then. If I'm to be fighting today, I'll need to finish my breakfast."

Arthur seriously doubted Bobby was fit to fight. He hoped there were prisoners stronger than him. Either way, Arthur had to work with what he had.

Merlin began to stand, but Arthur stopped him by saying, "There are some conditions."

Bobby looked up again, surprised. Merlin furrowed his brow, too.

"For starters, leave the patients alone," Arthur continued. "They're innocent. They're not to be harmed. Can you pass that message on to your men?"

Bobby narrowed his eyes, studying Arthur, and nodded. "I can, provided all those innocents stay out of our way."

"I'll take care of that. Just know, the community center is off limits." Arthur didn't know how he'd round everyone up, but he had to try.

"Any other  _terms_?" Bobby asked like Arthur's concern for human lives was silly. Arthur would have expected Bobby to understand. If not to save people, why was Bobby so against Eleazar? Perhaps some men just needed something to be angry about.

"Don't kill anyone," Arthur said firmly. He remembered he was dealing with not just protestors, but criminals, too. "Not unless it's absolutely necessary. There's been enough bloodshed."

Bobby snorted. "I'll pass it along," he said. He didn't add, " _but no promises_ ," but Arthur still understood.

Unable to take the smell anymore, Arthur jumped up and started away from the table. He headed for the stairwell, and Merlin rushed in his wake.

"I don't know how you trust that man, Merlin," Arthur said as they jostled down the first flight of stairs.

"I wouldn't go that far," Merlin admitted. "He hates Eleazar almost as much as you do."

"Yes, and why is that?" Arthur stopped walking and turned around. They were midway down the flight, and Arthur stopped a few steps below Merlin. "He doesn't seem to care about saving lives."

"His son died during the first trial," said Merlin, and Arthur suddenly understood Bobby's drinking. "He's doing this for revenge. He'll get the job done."

It was good enough for Arthur. "And we'll get ours done, too," he said. He started walking again. "We've got to get to community center before the riot starts."

Merlin grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

"We can't. We have to stay here for now," Merlin told him. "Once the explosion happens, it'll be chaotic. The guards, the staff, will be preoccupied. I have to be here to open the rest of the cells."

"All the more reason everyone else should be sheltered."

Merlin ignored him. "And, after that, we have to do this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. He handed it to Arthur, who flattened it out to reveal a phone number and an email address amongst the crinkles.

_Great_ , Arthur thought.  _It has something to do with the Internet_.

"It's Toby's information," Merlin exclaimed. "The riot will give us enough of a distraction to get to Woo's laptop. The videos you saw the morticians recording will have been sent to her. If we send them to Toby, he can leak them online. If enough people watch them, it'll get the authorities' attention."

Arthur wrapped his fist around the scrap of paper and shoved it into his pocket. "I'll do it," he decided.

Merlin grimaced and tilted his head to the side in a condescending way. "Arthur, you barely even know how to open a web browser."

Arthur huffed. "I know someone who can help." Beatrice. She was always the woman with the answers. Perhaps she could help him one last time.

Merlin shook his head and breathed out, almost to himself, "We don't have time to argue about this." He started down the steps again, and when he was on the same one as Arthur, Arthur stopped him.

"That's exactly my point," Arthur said. "We can cover more ground if we split up. Do what you must here, and then make your way to a lab to start your potion. I'll handle the rest and find you there."

This time, Merlin shook his head with greater force. "No. I'm not leaving you."

There was worry about Merlin, the kind that was desperate, guilty, and scared. The last time Merlin left Arthur's side in a time of peril, Arthur had been killed. He couldn't blame Merlin for being frightened, but they were out of options. There was too much to do.

"I'll be fine. Just go," Arthur said hurriedly, but Merlin didn't move. He stood still in his uneasiness.

Arthur cupped Merlin's cheeks in his palm, caressing the curved bones, and leaned in closer. "I'll be fine," he said again, more tenderly. "I'll have my sword." Not that it made much of a difference. After all, he'd had his sword last time, too. Still, it made him feel better.

It must have had the same effect on Merlin because he nodded into Arthur's hands.

"Wait until the incinerator blows," Merlin instructed. "Most of the guards from the gate will run to it to see what's happened. You'll have time to get everyone to safety before the rioters get there."

Arthur nodded in understanding. He gave one of Merlin's cheeks a soft pat before releasing him and rushing back down the stairs. When he turned on the landing, he noticed Merlin hadn't moved. However, Arthur didn't stop.

When he walked across the yard to retrieve his sword, he made sure to keep his head down and move as casually as he could. He stole a quick look at the gate at the other end of the yard, passed the prisoners kicking a ball around. Guards were still patrolling the fence, and there was one man inside the gatehouse.

Arthur snuck around the corner of the building unseen and crouched in the shadow where he left his sword. It was still there, with grass sticking up around it and an ant climbing along the blade. Arthur flicked it off and propped the sword between his knees, the point sticking into the dirt. He listened to the voices from the yard carried on the wind.

He was there for less than ten minutes when the quiet was broken by a large bang, followed by the sound of broken glass. It made his entire body cringe in defense. He smelled fire from the blast, and dense smoke was rising up from the center of the campus.

There were shouts coming from the yard. Arthur stood up and peered around the wall. Most of the guards were rushing towards the blast zone. One of them was yelling and pointing, giving directions. Some people were tasked with getting the prisoners in the yard inside, and the man in the gatehouse, who had rushed outside, was ordered to stay at his station. Then, the guard ran in the same direction in which the others had disappeared.

Arthur knew he shouldn't linger. Taking in a deep, steadying breath that filled his lungs with smoke, he gripped his sword tighter and cleared the wall. He marched for the gatehouse and ripped open the door.

The man was stunned as the tip of Arthur's sword rested on his collar.

"Open the gate," Arthur demanded.

The gatekeeper stammered a few times, his eyes flashing from his monitors to Arthur's set face.

* * *

At first, Arthur wondered if anyone on the lawn outside the community center had even heard the explosion. They must have. It was loud enough. However, patients, nurses, and orderlies remained as they were.

It wasn't until Arthur got a bit closer did he hear the patients' worried comments towards the staff. The nurses, as they pushed wheelchairs or supported wobbling people on foot, tried to tell them everything was fine; however, they seemed less than convinced. Everyone kept casting fearful glances southward.

Arthur pushed through the double doors of the building. The lounge area was as deserted as it always had been in the recent months, and only a few people sat in the canteen. By now, doctors would be making their rounds; people would be in appointments. There was no way he could collect them all.

His eyes fell to the broom cupboard that Merlin had pulled him into just weeks ago. Next to it, there was a fire alarm switch enclosed in a glass case. Arthur remembered the fliers hung up around Bonfire Night. He recalled one of the safety rules of Eleazar Beatrice had told him on his first day. People were supposed to go to the canteen in case of a fire emergency.

Arthur supposed this was emergency enough.

He broke the glass with the hilt of his sword and pulled down the red lever.

Instantly, a shrill alarm began to whine, so loud that it hurt Arthur's ears. The sirens echoed throughout the rest of the base.


	19. Chapter 19

Once everyone was inside the canteen, the alarms were silenced. Worried conversations faded in and out of his mind as he pushed his way through the room in search of Beatrice. He didn't see her anywhere, making him wonder if she got to the canteen before the doors were closed. It seemed like everyone on the entire base was in the room. Arthur hadn't seen it so packed since his first day at Eleazar.

Suddenly, one voice sounded above the others. "Look outside!" a man standing near one of the windows had shouted. Already, patients and staff alike were piling around him, trying to get a better view.

Arthur bounced on his tiptoes a few times to look over their heads to no avail. When he jumped on top of one of the tables, he got a better view of the trucks that were zipping through the lawn towards the rest of the base. Some stopped on the football pitch and prisoners were jumping out, some with stun guns in their hands and others with kitchen knives or blunt objects. The prisoners were spreading out and heading into nearby buildings.

The conversations had started up again, this time with more panicked tones and gasping inhales.

Some nurses and orderlies were trying their best to shepherd patients away from the windows, but more pushed forward to get a better look at what was happening outside. Arthur could see the fear in their eyes and hear it on their breath. They were worried the rioters would come for them, and that only meant they would try to flee from the canteen in search of safety. Perhaps some of them would try to leave the base altogether.

He couldn't let any of the patients go until Merlin was finished with his potion, which Arthur prayed was being concocted at that very moment. No one could leave.

Besides, Eleazar's guards were bound to respond to the prisoners. If any of the patients got out, they could be mistaken as participants in the riot. It was best for all of them to stay put. Arthur remembered the castle's keep in Camelot. He would get as many civilians as possible inside of it when the citadel was under attack. It was a place for the women, children, and elderly to wait out the battle. The canteen would have to serve as his keep.

He placed his sword down at his feet and stood a little taller on top of the table, straightening out his back and squaring his shoulders. He expected people to instantly cease conversation and pay attention to him. They didn't, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. How were people supposed to behave when they wanted a room to fall silent?

"If I could have your attention," he tried shouting a few times after clearing his throat into his fist. Each time, his words got lost amongst the rest of the voices. Apart from a few perplexed glances from those around him, people didn't seem to notice he was even there.

Maybe it was the adrenaline from the riot, or the exhaustion from the past few days; or perhaps it was the drugs Merlin had given him for his head, but his temper ran shorter and hotter than usual.

" _Quiet_!" he barked at the top of his voice. All other conversation trailed away with unfinished sentences, and the room hushed as all confused eyes fell on him. "If you keep this noise level, you'll be heard," he told him, waving a finger towards the windows.

With that, he knew he'd gotten everyone's attention, and he tried to settle his impatience. Now was the time to reassure people, not scare them further.

Readjusting his shoulders again, he began, "I know how frightened you all must be, but I assure you, you aren't in any danger—"

"Do you not see what's happening out there?" one woman near a window yelled to him, throwing him off his guard. He wasn't used to people interrupting him while he was speaking. Well, except for Merlin.

Near the woman, he finally spotted Beatrice. She was giving him the same confused eyes as everyone else was, but her gaze was communicative. It was like she expected to hold a full conversation with Arthur from across the room with glances alone. He decided to push her from his mind for the time being. There would be opportunity for her questions later.

Instead, he refocused on the woman patient. "I do," he told her politically. "Surely, you've all heard of the riots going on amongst the prisoners? They have not come here to harm any of you. They just want to leave Eleazar."

He paused for a moment, weighing his words. He considered telling them about the placebo and the deaths at Eleazar, but he refrained. He needed these people to blindly trust their doctors just for a few more hours, just in time for them to receive their cure. It wasn't fair, but sometimes secrets had to be kept to protect others.

"And they'll get their wish," Arthur settled on saying. " _All_  of us are going home—today."

He heard various people repeat the last word indignantly, and the murmurs of conversation spread through the room like a wave again.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Arthur saw movement in the crowd. Scott was pushing his way towards the table, and Arthur knew he had to reel his audience back in quickly.

A man in an orderly uniform called towards him, "They can't go home today! They haven't finished treatment!"

Some people in the crowd chimed in in solidarity.

On his other side, a nurse shouted, "Who told you anyone was being sent home? I haven't heard that!"

Arthur held out his palms in a placating gesture in both of their directions, but the crowd didn't silence for him again.

Scott had reached the table, and he said in a harsh whisper, "Arthur, what in god's name are you doing?"

Arthur ground his teeth in a huff. He didn't want to talk to Scott. He didn't even want to look at him, but the simple fact remained that he needed him. Making up his mind, Arthur knelt down to be level with him.

"I need you to talk to them," Arthur urged, and Scott gave him a half-shocked, half-annoyed look. It was the first time Arthur had seen him even remotely angry.

"Talk to them?" Scott shot back. "About what? Where have you been the last few days?"

Arthur tried very hard not to lose his temper again, but he couldn't stop himself from spitting, "Undoing all the damage  _you_  did to me."

Scott looked scandalized. "I was trying to  _help_  you, Arthur," he maintained, looking wounded.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur decided. "What matters now, is that we keep all these people where they are. You have to convince them. To them, I'm just an ordinary patient, but they'll listen to you."

Throughout, Scott was shaking his head in disagreement. "I'm not altogether convinced they're safe here," he said, but Arthur knew he was smarter than that. Scott narrowed his eyes. "How do  _you_  know the rioters won't try to come in here?"

Arthur tensed his jaw in ways of an answer.

Scott scoffed a humorless laugh. "You're trying to shut us down," he interpreted. "Forgive me, Arthur, but I won't help you put me out of a job."

He turned to walk away, and in a split-second decision, Arthur blurted out, "Merlin's working on his cure."

Scott halted. He turned back towards Arthur.

"That's why we're here," Arthur went on. "The riot is a distraction. We want to cure these people." Arthur bit as his lip, hoping he wasn't going to regret his next words, "Help me now, and I'll ensure a vial of his potion gets to you."

Scott blinked, not understanding, or so it would seem. "What for?"

"Your wife."

Arthur regretted it already. Scott wasn't a man he could trust, but this was the only deal Arthur could think to make him. It was Arthur's sole bargaining chip.

Scott appeared to think it over, and after a pause, he nodded thoughtfully. "I have your word on this?"

Arthur took in a harsh breath, not quite relief. "Yes."

The amicable smile Arthur saw on his first day found its way onto Scott's lips.

"Well, then," Scott said happily. "What is it you need me to do?"

Arthur grabbed the hilt of his sword and jumped off the table. "Tell them to stay in the canteen, no matter what. Inform them the authorities are on their way to take care of the mob—or whatever you can think of. Before they go home today, they'll be administered one more dose of Fisher that's guaranteed to cure them. Got it?"

Scott nodded. He heaved himself onto a chair before stepping onto the tabletop.

"And I'd keep them away from the windows, if I were you," Arthur instructed as an afterthought. With that, he started through the throng, keeping his sword close to his chest as to not harm anyone.

Behind him, he heard Scott clear his throat and say in his genial tones that offered Arthur no comfort, "Pardon me, everyone. If I could please have your attention . . ."

The noise level dropped again, but Arthur tuned Scott out.

After some effort, he reached Beatrice at the edge of the crowd. Apparently, she had been waiting for him, because she immediately began talking a mile a minute.

"Arthur! What the  _hell_  is going on?" Her eyes fell towards the sword hanging at his side, and she became even more panicked. "Where on earth did you find  _that_?"

"We haven't got time to explain," Arthur told her. Warily, he eyed the people around them before taking her by the shoulder and leading her out of earshot.

In frustration, she brushed his hand off of her. "Why not?" she demanded. "How do you know we're safe in here?"

"I just do."

"How? The prisoners, are you fighting them?" Her expression was completely different now. She was looking at him like he was all the Wonders of the World packed into one person. It made a pit in his stomach. He didn't deserve it.

"I'm  _helping_  them!" he told her, and she gasped like he had physically struck her.

"You're  _what_?" It wasn't anger. It was disbelief.

"I'll explain everything later," he assured her, trying to calm her down. "I need your help, Beatrice." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the note with Toby's information. "I need you to help me email some videos to this man."

"Videos?" she parroted, not understanding. "Hold on. Why me?"

He was grinding his teeth in impatience again. He hadn't realized it until his jaw started to ache sensitively. "You work at a call center. You must work with computers all day!"

She still wasn't following, "Well, yeah . . . But why can't you do it yourself?"

Arthur didn't like to admit his failings, but there was no other way of saying it, "I don't know much about computers."

She raised a brow. "You don't know how to send an email?"

His blood pounded at his temples. "Not with attachments! Look, just—Can you help me? We need to get to Dr. Woo's office for this."

"What, go out there?" she said, worried for a whole new reason now. "But you said—"

"Forget what I said. I'll protect you," he promised, holding up his sword.

She didn't seem comforted by it. "No," she said at last. "Not until you tell me  _exactly_  what's going on, Arthur Pennington." He might have felt guilty if he had the time.

"My name's not Arthur Pennington," he confessed quickly. "It's Arthur Pendragon."

When he met her eyes, she was staring at him with a blank face.

"Right," she said in a mocking tone. "That where you got that sword, Your Highness? Plucked it out of a stone on your way over?"

Arthur dropped his voice as he muttered, "I know how it sounds."

" _Mental_! Yeah? It sounds mental!"

"Fine, I don't care!" he argued. "But I need your help. Once we get to the videos on Woo's computer, you'll see why." He knew he'd gotten her. She was curious and thoughtful. For good measure, he gave a forceful, " _Please_."

"Alright!" she conceded. "I'll help you. But I want answers."

"You'll get them," he swore. He started towards the opposite end of the canteen, Beatrice close behind him. When they reached the doors, Arthur cast one last glance over his shoulder, trying to find Scott in the mass. He didn't spot him, but he hoped Scott would honor their deal.

When they got to the door leading outside the building, Arthur opened it just enough to peer out. Behind him, he was aware of Beatrice trying to get a look, too. On the field, Eleazar's guards had shown up and were attempting to control the prisoners. They were severely outnumbered, but they were trained. Some of the rioters were on the grass, either stunned or held in arrest by a guard.

However, some of the rioters had gotten the better of their pursuers, too. Not many people were left on the field, having spread out to different areas of the base. Arthur imagined what the morgue must have looked like now.

Straightening out, Arthur turned to Beatrice. "We should stay close to the wall when we can. It's best not to be seen," he told her. It wouldn't be an easy feat. "Keep near me."

The air whooshed as he spun his sword in his wrist, as though preparing it for battle. He barely acknowledged Beatrice jump when he did so.

Bracing himself, Arthur slipped out of the door, and she followed. Once they were on the other side of it, with the chilled air instantly chapping their cheeks and the shouts of the men and women in front of them unobstructed, he felt Beatrice clutch his arm. He only offered her a brave nod, which she returned with less conviction, before leading her along the side of the community center.

The gaps between the dormitory buildings surrounding the field weren't wide, and they were able to stick to the shadows cast by the walls. However, it became more difficult once the field was at their backs. The buildings became less clustered, and the late morning sun sometimes peeked its sparkling face out from the dense clouds.

Arthur and Beatrice had to get as far as they could from the action before breaking away from the walls. Using gestures, he tried to instruct her to keep low as they ran, to which Beatrice only blinked at in perplexity. " _What_?" she had demanded the first time he tried it, making his heart leap from fear that she was heard. He tried to simplify his instructions after that, and she learned quickly.

Along the way, he kept his sword at the ready and was wary of every corner. Soon, they were over halfway to the main building, and caught in an area devoid of any shadows. Luckily, that section of the base was deserted, or so it appeared.

Arthur heard static crackle over a radio as they reached the edge of the current building they were slinking along. Beatrice jumped slightly because of it, and Arthur quickly shoved her closer to the wall.

There was a guard right around the corner. His radio was still sounding with transmissions Arthur couldn't quite distinguish over the hissing static. Arthur gripped his sword tighter. The muscles in his back stiffened against the wall, and his skinned buzzed in the close proximity to the guard.

Quickly, he leapt around the corner and brought the blunt side of his sword down on the guard's head. He let out a grunt and swayed slightly before collapsing to the grass.

"Oh, my god!" Beatrice exclaimed, appearing from around the corner, too. She was grinning wildly as she punched his shoulder playfully. "That was a close one, wasn't it?"

Arthur cocked a brow at her. "You're rather enjoying this, aren't you?"

She barely had a chance to look sheepish before a new voice called from behind them, "Drop your weapon!"

Arthur froze. So did Beatrice, after a loud gasp. She immediately threw her hands up like a criminal in an old cop film.

"I said drop it!"

Arthur didn't. However, he made sure both his hands could be seen as he turned around slowly. He recognized this guard, who was currently training his stun gun at Arthur. It was the man who had brought him to Eleazar. It was the same guard that stunned Merlin outside Wilt's office. Beckett.

A tight anger flared in Arthur's chest.

"You know I'm not afraid to use this," Beckett warned, his eyes flickering to the gun in his hands. "Last chance. Drop it."

There was no way Arthur could get close enough to him before Beckett fired. He had no choice but to do as he was told.

"Alright," Arthur said in a placating tone. He held his palm up in innocence and kept Beckett's gaze as he slowly bent down and placed the sword on the grass.

"Good," Beckett said when Arthur was straightened out again. He swiveled the gun as he instructed, "Now turn around. Hands behind your back."

Arthur did just that. Presently, Beckett inched up to him, and Arthur casted Beatrice a look. Her eyes were twice their normal size, and observant enough to understand Arthur's meaning when he glanced pointedly towards the stun gun in the unconscious guard's limp hand. The gesture only served to make her physically more nervous, so he winked at her.

The moment he felt Beckett clutch his wrist, Arthur grabbed right back. He quickly leaned forward and flipped Beckett over his back. Beckett landed with an "oomph" at Arthur's feet, and Arthur ignored the pain in his shoulders from bending his arms the wrong way.

Beatrice had grabbed the spare gun and was pointing it threateningly between both of her hands. From the ground, Beckett had his trained on her, too, but his arms weren't shaking as much as hers were.

"Put it down now, or I swear to god I'll shoot you!" she shouted at him with as much conviction as she could muster. Arthur believed her. She was scared enough to shoot.

Beckett's fingers were squeezing his release. "You don't even know how to use it," he said surely, sounding a little hoarse from his fall.

Beatrice jabbed the gun closer. "Wanna bet?"

She clicked the trigger. Arthur's heart skipped a beat.

Nothing happened.

Once he processed what had happened—or hadn't happened—Arthur felt his breath return to him. However, it seemed to have the opposite effect on Beatrice. She gaped at the gun in horror.

"What did I say?" Beckett bragged smugly. He redoubled his grip on his gun, and Arthur saw his fingers flip off the safety.

Without thinking, Arthur kicked his sword into the air and caught it. He brought the tip down on Beckett's chest.

There was a loud, pained wail, and then there was nothing.

Beatrice must have remembered to breathe again. Arthur heard her panting, but he didn't dare look up at her. He realized he was still glaring down at the body, and his sword was still in Beckett's heart.

Cautiously, Arthur looked up at her. He couldn't read her expression, and it made him guilty for a reason he couldn't explain. She'd probably never seen someone killed. He was certain she wouldn't understand that he was trying to protect her. She would run from him. She wasn't like the women from Camelot, from his time. She wasn't like Gwen.

Arthur straightened out, trying to find the right words to say but only coming out with stammers. However, she spoke first.

"Oh, my god!" she shouted again. She rushed to him and flung her arms around his neck. He nearly stumbled against her weight, and he kept his palms splayed out in shock.

"He would have killed me!" Beatrice exclaimed into his shoulder. "Thank you!"

"I—um," Arthur muttered. He relaxed his hands on her back. "I'm not sure he would have done  _that_."

She pulled away from him and insisted, "But it would have hurt!"

He couldn't deny that much.

Happy to still be in her good graces, he retrieved his sword and took her by the hand to lead her away from the bodies. She kept the stun gun, "just in case."

When they reached the main building, the doors were already open. Arthur readied his sword again as they walked slowly through the threshold and into the corridor. There was no one immediately inside, and the only sounds he heard were the buzzing of the overhead lights. He relaxed his blade.

"No one's here," he told Beatrice, and he noticed her grip slacken around her gun. There weren't any signs of a fight, but Arthur was sure the rioters had been there. He wondered if they found the wing holding the offices, and whether or not it was destroyed. "Let's just hope we can find what we need."

"Dr. Woo's laptop," Beatrice remembered, pacing at his side down the hallway. "What do you need it for? Tell me."

"It has some videos on it," Arthur told her breezily.

"Right, I got that. What sort of videos?" It was clear she wasn't going to relent now that they were out of harm's way. He must have huffed in exasperation, because Beatrice scolded, "Look, you told me you'd give me some answers, yeah?"

"I suppose."

"Well, get on with it."

He would have liked this conversation to take place in Woo's office, when he had the videos to show her as proof. Still, maybe it was better to prepare her for what she was about to witness.

"Eleazar isn't what you think it is," he said. "They've killed people—lots of them. I don't know how many. Maybe hundreds, maybe more."

Beatrice was shaking her head is skepticism. "No, no, Arthur, they've been trying to  _save_  people."

"You're wrong." Telling Beatrice about the evils of humanity wasn't easy. He couldn't imagine her amongst them. She was always too bright, too genuine. She was the kindest person Arthur had met in this century, and he hated to drag her into his world. "They haven't been healing everyone. To some, they've given a placebo—a fake drug." It occurred to him that she might know what a placebo is, because she didn't so much as blink at the word. "They're deliberately letting the patients die."

"Why would they do that?"

"They need bodies to see if Fisher will bring people back to life. That's their goal, not to heal people; to stop death." He glanced over at her to make sure she was processing everything all right, but she wasn't looking back at him. She seemed pensive, but on the verge of believing. "I've seen it with my own eyes," he said. "I saw them try to bring Eddy back to life."

Arthur realized Beatrice was no longer at his side. She'd stopped walking abruptly, and he halted, too, to face her.

"Eddy's dead?" she asked in a small voice.

Arthur tightened his jaw. "I thought you knew."

She shook her head, looking mournful, and whispered, "I don't believe it."

He felt impatience tightening in his chest again. "Look, if you don't believe me—"

"No, it's not that," she interrupted hurriedly. "It's just . . . What have these videos got to do with anything?"

"The morticians have been recording their attempts. I think they've been sending their progress to Woo. We have to get those videos out to the public. It's the only way to stop all this."

She swallowed hard, collected herself, and nodded. "Better get to it, then."

"Good," he agreed shortly. He turned again and started down the corridor, but Beatrice didn't follow.

"Why did you say you're Arthur Pendragon?" she called, stopping him again. When he looked over his shoulder, she hadn't moved. "Why would you lie like that?"

"Would you believe me if I said I wasn't lying?"

She appeared to consider the question for a second, and then a soft smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "No," she sang.

Arthur had to admit he was let down. But maybe it was best if she didn't know the truth.

She paced towards him. "My gran used to read me the legends. The appropriate ones, anyway," she laughed. He wondered if she'd ever been read one written by Merlin. "I used to fancy him, King Arthur," she went on with a roll of her eyes, like she was embarrassed. The confession left him a little wrong footed, too. "He was impressive. All those brave things he did in the stories. But that's all they are, stories."

Arthur snorted a quick laugh at the comment, thinking about all the ridiculous things he'd read in those legends. It finally got the point that he had to stop reading them altogether. "Yes, they certainly are that."

She seemed more comforted by the fact that Arthur wasn't a total raging lunatic. He decided to let her keep her peace.

"We should get to work," he advised, and this time she moved after him when he turned away.

The office wing was in shambles when they reached it. File folders and papers were torn and strewn about the hallway, name placards hug lopsided on the walls, and the doors were left open to reveal overturned desks, broken lamps, and file drawers ripped from their cabinets. It was as though a storm had blown through the corridor, but now everything was eerily still.

Arthur had expected the offices to be in such a state. Most of the prisoners had been against Eleazar before they ever stepped foot on the base. They would want as much dirt on them as they could find. Apart from the morgue, this was the place to get it.

The blood red door of Wilt's office was broken open, too, allowing access to the mess of tomes ripped off the bookshelves and abandoned in untidy piles. The dead plant had been knocked over, and the dirt from its pot fanned out on the nearby tiles.

Arthur paused outside the door without realizing it. He didn't know why he lingered. He didn't like being around that office. The air around it was a little too stiff now that he knew whom it really belonged to. Next to him, Beatrice said his name, bringing him back into the moment, and they continued on.

Scott's office door was open, and the room beyond was just as much of a mess as the others, but no more of a disaster than usual. Arthur wondered if the rioters had even stepped foot into it or if that's just how Scott had left it.

Next was Woo's door. It was closed.

Beatrice realized it, too, because she was looking at Arthur with curiosity. He gripped the handle and gave it a jiggle. "It's locked," he said.

Beatrice started. "Do you think she's in there?"

Arthur hadn't anticipated it. He thought Woo would have been long gone by now. Readying his sword, he looked to Beatrice, silently asking her to help him get the door open. On the count of three, they both slammed against the wood and the hinges cracked under the pressure. It splintered open on the second try. Arthur felt a whooshing sensation of falling in his stomach as he stumbled into the room, but he recovered quickly.

Close by, someone shouted in what might have been a battle cry, but it was more like a grunt. Woo was rushing towards him from the side of the door with something small and gold glinting in her raised fist. As she was bringing it down on Arthur, he caught her wrist and bent her arm backwards, spinning her around. She tried to struggle away.

Arthur looked down and realized her weapon was a letter opener.

"Don't be a fool. You're smarter than that," he told her, touching the point of his sword to her lower back. She stopped struggling and, after a pause, dropped the letter opener. It clanged at their feet before settling.

"You should have run away while you had the chance," he said, eliciting a scoff from her.

"And leave behind my life's work?" she spat. "Think again."

"Arthur," Beatrice said from across the room. She was standing behind the desk, staring down at an opened laptop.

He ordered Woo to walk further into the room and made her sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Then he walked around to the other side. The laptop's screen was black and filled completely with white symbols of a long formula. In the top corner of the screen, there was a small file transfer window with the process bar filled half way. An external hard drive was attached to the laptop.

On the desk next to it were another computer, this one folded down, and a mobile phone.

"Is this Merlin's?" Arthur asked Woo, gesturing to the first computer.

She did not answer but gave him a mutinous glare, so he took that as a yes. He unplugged the external hard drive, making an error message pop up on the screen, and closed the laptop. He fit them both under his arm.

"The videos we need will be on that one," he told Beatrice, indicating the second laptop. It was already on when she opened it, depicting the pre-set purple galaxy desktop background. There were probably thousands of Eleazar's files on that computer, and Arthur didn't want to waste time looking for the ones they needed.

"Where are the videos?" he demanded of Woo as Beatrice sat down in the desk chair and began clicking around.

Woo shrugged in ignorance. "What videos?" she droned, like she knew he would never believe her.

He leveled his sword towards her and marched around the desk. "Tell me or I'll run you through."

She smirked, leaned back in the chair, put her arms on the armrests, and crossed her legs. Her gaze didn't leave his. "Go on, then," she dared. "I know you want to."

He  _really_  did, and he had half a mind to give in to that desire. He stood frozen, considering, for a few moments until Beatrice piped up, "Hang on, I think I've got something."

Woo's expression flickered with worry only briefly, and Arthur moved to stand over Beatrice. She had a folder open which contained a long list of files. She clicked one at random and video began to play.

It depicted a scene much like the one Arthur had witnessed when they drugged Eddy, only this time it was a woman. The doctors confirmed she was treated with the placebo before injecting her. The woman didn't last as long as Eddy had. She sputtered a few times before convulsing and stilling again, and the screen went blank.

At some point during the clip, Beatrice had placed her hands over her face. She was staring at the screen in terror. "That's awful," she said tearfully, and then with anger, "That's horrible!"

"Horrible?" Woo challenged, catching both Arthur and Beatrice's attention. "Death is horrible. Disease is horrible. What you saw was life. It was a miracle."

Arthur seriously considered running his blade through her gut.

"No, it was  _horrible_!" Beatrice emphasized, glaring daggers sharper than Arthur's sword. "You killed all these people—," she twiddled a finger at the list of files, "and for what? For science? What the fuck is wrong with you people? I  _trusted_  Eleazar! We all did, and this is what you've been up to? That's not a miracle, yeah? It's  _murder_."

She spoke as though she was lecturing a small child to not write on the walls, and it astounded Arthur. He pulled an impressed face before looking back to Woo and saying, "What she said."

However, Woo seem less affected by the scolding. "You're Beatrice Bowen, yes?"

It caught Beatrice a little off guard. She seemed surprised that Woo had any idea who she was. She recovered by shaking her head and demanding, "So?"

"You had leukemia, but not anymore. You're in remission," Woo reminded her, raising a brow. "We did that for you, like we did for your mother. Is that so bad?"

Arthur thought the reminder might coax Beatrice back into trusting Eleazar, but she surprised him yet again. "Yeah? Well, I'd rather go through chemo my whole life than have all these people dead," she said pointedly. "Arthur, phone that bloke. Now."

Arthur did as he was told. He produced Toby's phone number from his pocket and scooped up Woo's mobile from the desk. The background picture was of her with her daughter on her lap, both smiling and enjoying a sunny day at the park. Arthur forced the image out of his conscience and unlocked the phone.

He put it on speaker and it rang until Toby picked up with an enthusiastic, "Go for the Tobes."

Beatrice wrinkled her nose dubiously, and Woo looked very pleased that the man Arthur had put his faith in was completely non-threatening. Arthur did his best not to flush with embarrassment by rolling his eyes.

"Toby, it's Arthur," he said before adding a bit lamely, "Pendragon," just in case Toby knew another Arthur.

Toby gasped loudly, and there was shuffling over the line. "Arthur! Hi—erm, sir.  _Sire_! What—erm. Why are you phoning me?"

"I hate to do this to you, but I need your help again," he said.

"Anything!" Toby shouted in delight, so loud that his voice sounded tinny over the line.

Beatrice was looking back and forth from the phone to Arthur like she had no idea Arthur was apparently some sort of rock star. Arthur kept his eyes on Woo, half for insurance and half to not make eye contact with Beatrice.

"Good. I'm at Eleazar now. We're going to email you some videos. I need you to post them online—your website, anywhere. Make sure word gets out about them."

"You want them to go viral?" Toby asked, scheming.

Arthur had no idea what he was talking about. "Sure," he decided. Then, something occurred to him, "Do you have a computer?"

Toby snorted in bad taste. "Yeah! I had to buy a new one after  _your_  mate, Merlin, blew mine up. Not that I'm blaming you, of course!"

"Why does everyone keep going on about  _Merlin_  now?" Beatrice ranted. "Have you all gone completely insane?"

"Who's that?" Toby asked.

"It's Beatrice," said Arthur. "She's helping me email the videos."

Seeming to get over the fact that she was the only sane person in the room, she scoffed and said, "Email them? Arthur, there are  _hundreds_  of files here. That'll take forever to send!"

Arthur stammered a bit, not knowing how to respond. There must have been a way to get them to Toby. Their plan couldn't fail because of something so trivial.

"We could do a file transfer," Toby suggested.

Arthur had no idea what he was talking about, but Beatrice seemed to, because she said, "No, you don't—Oh, give me that." She plucked the mobile out of Arthur's palm and spoke into it. "Toby, yeah? Beatrice. Anyway. You're not seeing what I am. There's too much. It'll take too long to upload and download."

Arthur bit the inside of his mouth, praying they would figure out a tactic. He reminded himself to keep an eye on Woo.

"Well, there is another way," Toby said thoughtfully, piquing Arthur's interest. "I could hack into the computer and get the files from it directly."

Arthur blinked. So did Beatrice.

"You can do that?" Arthur asked, dumbfounded.

"Well, yeah," said Toby. He sounded sheepish, not bragging at all. "I would need Beatrice to do a few things on that end, like lowering the firewall. I—erm. I can walk you through it, Beatrice."

She gave an impressed sort of breath. "Yeah, sure. I—um. Yeah." Arthur noticed her cheeks flush.

"Okay, first you'll have to send me an email from that computer. It can be blank," said Toby, and Beatrice opened the mail app.

"Why, what will that—?" Arthur began, but Beatrice stopped him by putting up her hand.

"Shh! He's talking!"

"It'll give me the laptop's IP number," Toby went on as Beatrice typed in his email address from the scrap of paper in Arthur's hand and hit send.

"How do you know how to do all this?" she asked in wonderment.

"I—erm. You could say it's a bit of a hobby," Toby said, and Arthur could practically hear him blushing from over the phone. He pulled a disgruntled face.

"Fine. Toby, put up as many videos as you can. Start with the most recent, but make sure there aren't any references to Merlin or me in them," Arthur ordered, getting them back on track.

"Got it. You two were never there," said Toby in a preoccupied tone. Arthur heard typing over the line. "What about any other mention of you? Eleazar's bound to have files on you. If this computer's connected to the network, I can get into the rest of the system and erase them."

Toby seemed giddy again. He'd wanted a way to snoop around Eleazar for some time.

"Yes," Arthur said, not about to deny him his meddling. "Thank you."

There was nothing else he could do in that office. Beatrice and Toby seemed as though they had everything handled. Arthur needed to find Merlin and make sure the potion was being mixed. He had to give him the laptop, still tucked under his arm, which contained the missing pieces of the formula.

"Have you got this under control?" Arthur checked with Beatrice. She nodded confidently. "Good. Once you're finished, get back to the canteen. I'll meet you there later."

"What about her?" Beatrice asked, nodding to Woo, as Arthur crossed to the other side of the desk.

"I have a place we can hold her for now," he assured. He lifted his sword again and ordered Woo to stand up and start walking.

On the way out of the office, Arthur heard Beatrice say, "Alright, Toby. Just you and me now. What do you need?"


	20. Chapter 20

The base had gone silent and motionless, except for the breeze rustling the grass. Arthur didn't run into anyone on his way back to the canteen; only stray stun guns or metal rods used as makeshift weapons, and two bodies of Eleazar guards, one of which Arthur put there himself. He wanted to check in on Scott before he went looking for Merlin. However, when he reached the community building, Merlin was standing outside of it.

He was right outside the double doors wearing a white lab coat with his hands shoved into the pockets. He was looking off, seemingly lost in thought, and didn't notice Arthur approaching.

Arthur called his name when he got close, stirring Merlin from his trance. Arthur offered him a bright grin, and Merlin returned a tired looking smile.

"How's the potion coming along?" Arthur asked, not bothering to ask why Merlin wasn't more pleased. He was never happy.

Merlin nodded and looked off again. "It's on its way."

"Good. I thought you might want this." Arthur offered Merlin the laptop and the external device, which Merlin relieved him of before staring down at them with a tight jaw. "Woo had been trying to get the files from it before taking off."

"Good thing you caught her. I'll be needing this," Merlin said, tucking the laptop under his arm. "Some of the other doctors managed to escape. They won't be able to run far once the inquiry starts. Did you get in touch with Toby?"

"It's taken care of." Arthur glanced around the area, which was still completely empty. "Where is everyone?"

"Back at the prison with Bobby," Merlin told him. "Those who did stay behind thought it would be best to put the guards in cells. I think it's payback, but—," he pulled a face and shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever makes them feel better."

"And the criminals?" Arthur asked, remembering the other body he'd seen on his way over. He wondered how many other guards or staff members had been so unfortunate.

"Gone. All of them, I think. They'd rather be free than cured, and I can't say I blame them." He didn't seem too worried about it. He cast his gaze towards the fence in the distance. Arthur tried to ignore the fact that Merlin wouldn't meet his gaze, or that Merlin's eyes were still as he spoke. "But they probably won't make it very far, either."

"Either way, looks like we've won," Arthur said, trying to cheer him up. "Don't look so glum, Merlin."

Merlin's expression didn't change. He quickly changed the subject. "I'll need help finishing the potion."

"Of course," Arthur sighed. "What can I do?"

"Not you. Someone who's familiar with the formula and knows his way around a lab."

"Who?"

Merlin grimaced, and Arthur had a feeling he wasn't going to like the next bit.

"Conrad."

Arthur's eyes widened in half-shock, half-anger. "Scott? No! Absolutely not. We can't trust him!"

"I never said trust him," Merlin argued in a monotonous tone.

"You've made it on your own before."

"It's different now. This potion in such a high quantity is a lot of work. I won't be able to explain things to you. It's better to have someone who knows what he's doing."

Arthur huffed and glared at Merlin to show he wasn't happy. However, he knew Merlin was right. "Fine," he conceded. "But I'm coming with you. I don't want to take my eyes off of him."

Arthur walked past Merlin and pushed through the doors. They headed for the canteen.

* * *

Once they had collected Scott, Arthur was led to a building near the morgue. It was large, with long corridors built into a labyrinth, and it reminded Arthur somewhat of the main building. However, the doors to every room had windows on them, peeking into the dark and empty workbenches and lab supplies beyond.

Merlin brought them to a lab halfway down one of the corridors, and there was a man posted outside the door. He must have been one of the rioters that Merlin employed to keep watch as he worked.

The lab was a lot smaller than Arthur had expected. He didn't know why he'd imagined whirring machines and contraptions pumping out black smoke. There were only small puffs of steam and vapor from the boiling flasks over burners.

Four of the benches were filled with the mess of colorful liquids, powders, glass tubes, and papers. Merlin ran to one of the burners and quickly turned the flame down until its blue became a soft orange.

Scott cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but I was half-expecting a cauldron."

Merlin shot him a glare through his eyelashes before letting the comment slide. He reached for a pair of lab goggles and slipped them over his face. The band made his hair stick up around it and made his ears flop forward.

"What is it you need me for?" Scott asked, seeming as lost as Arthur felt in the lab without instruction.

"To help me mix the formula," Merlin said in a preoccupied tone without looking up. "The synthetics are almost complete, and I've cast all the bonding spells. There's only one ingredient left."

"Your blood," Arthur guessed.

Merlin nodded.

"Your  _blood_?" Scott repeated with an incredulous scoff, like he was surprised. Arthur raised a brow in his direction. "You said you're trying to cure all the patients. That's—," he gave a thoughtful, unsure sound, "still over a thousand people, not counting the dead. The amount of blood we'd need for that—"

"About five liters," Merlin estimated like he couldn't be bothered.

Scott scoffed again. It was starting to unnerve Arthur.

"Don't you see anything  _wrong_  with that?" Scott probed.

Arthur had about enough of being left in the dark. "What is it? Why is it wrong?" He kept his eyes on Merlin, who danced from one workstation to the other to monitor things. Arthur got the impression he was pointedly making himself busy. He never looked up.

"That's all the blood in the human body!" Scott laughed like this all must have been one big joke.

Arthur still didn't understand. He shook his head. "But you said people replenish their blood."

"Not that quickly, Arthur," Scott tried to explain. "Surely, you've seen men die of blood loss." He turned to Merlin; so did Arthur. "Not even you could survive that." Suddenly, he was unsure. "Could you?"

Merlin finally stopped moving and looked forward. He stared at Scott in a determined sort of way, but he couldn't prevent his eyes from quickly flashing to meet Arthur's. Arthur felt his stomach flop when they did. He knew what Merlin's answer would be before he said it.

"No," said Merlin, and Arthur's first reaction was to get angry. Merlin had kept something from him  _again_ , something important. Something  _so_  important. Suddenly, Arthur didn't want to go through with the plan. But, before he could shout, Merlin continued, "Which is the other reason I need you, Conrad. I need you to perform a transfusion on me."

Arthur's anger dwindled back into perplexity. "What does that mean?" he demanded. Whatever it was, it sounded hopeful.

"He wants to replace his blood with someone else's," Scott explained, seeming to think it over. "Like a transplant."

" _Who_  else's?" Arthur asked, suddenly mortified. His wide eyes fell to Scott, now unsure as to what his purpose was in the lab. Scott was a part of Eleazar; he deserved what was coming to him, but he didn't deserve to die. "Merlin, you're not—?"

" _No_!" Merlin shouted, like his heart had leapt into his throat. "God, no—Arthur. There's a blood bank in this building! People donate for patients. All hospitals have them."

Arthur was relieved. Only then had he noticed how quickly his pulse had been racing. However, it brought no headache on. The drugs must have been working. "Good."

"Even so, we haven't had time to plan the procedure. There's every possibility your body will reject the new blood. We need to perform tests first. There are protocols," Scott cut in. Arthur wasn't certain if he was telling the truth or trying to buy himself some time.

Apparently, Merlin didn't trust him, either, because he said, "Go to the bank and get everything you can. I'm type AB. Anything will do."

Scott gaped at him for a few seconds like he was trying to think of something to say, but eventually he gave up and stalked out the room. Arthur turned to the man posted at the door and said, "Go with him. Don't let your guard down."

The two disappeared and the door swung shut behind them with a thud.

Arthur waited until he was sure they were gone to turn back around. Merlin was still moving around, but much more slowly. He was only keeping himself occupied, and Arthur had a feeling Merlin still wasn't giving him the full story.

He walked to Merlin's side, watching him measure something in a beaker and slosh it around a little with an upturned nose. Arthur had never seen him in this setting before, with chemicals and potions and lab goggles that, admittedly, made him look a bit silly. But he always looked so important in a white coat.

"You look like a proper physician now," Arthur told him, crossing his arms and leaning into the table. Merlin smirked down at the chemicals. "Gaius would be proud."

The smirk dropped. "Yeah, I'm not so sure."

"He would," Arthur insisted. "You're making things right."

Merlin didn't seem comforted by that. His disposition became even gloomier. He stopped pretending to be busy in favor of staring blankly at the countertop. Arthur remained quiet, despite the concerned and confused look on his face, and waited for Merlin to share whatever was on his mind.

He ripped off his goggles and turned away instead. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the tense line of his shoulder as Merlin cupped his hands in front of his lips and whispered something ancient into them. Shortly, he unfolded his fingers and laughed softly at his palms. When he faced Arthur again, he was twirling the thin stock of a tiny, bright yellow sunflower in his fingers. He offered it to Arthur with a sad smile.

Arthur didn't take it, but instead stood up straighter. "What's gotten into you?"

Merlin dropped his arm to the side and shrugged. Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin expected him to guess what was the matter, or if he really didn't want him to know. Arthur guessed anyway. "Are you nervous about the transfusion?"

Merlin snorted bitterly. "No," he said matter-of-factly. "It's what comes after it that worries me."

"After?" Arthur inquired. He was done with the guessing game. "Fine, if you aren't going to tell me—"

"It will make me mortal," Merlin blurted out, halting Arthur immediately.

"Mortal?" he repeated. "You mean, you'll die someday?"

"Some day," Merlin answered like he was weighing his options. "Today . . . Either one."

Arthur felt his stomach do another flip, and maybe the medication wasn't working perfectly because his head started to pound. "What the hell are you talking about?" he demanded, waving a hand towards the door Scott had disappeared out of. "You  _just_  said this would work."

"Look, it will probably be fine," Merlin tried. Arthur didn't like the word  _probably_. He liked it less than he had  _invasive_. "No one's ever been immortal before, Arthur. I don't know how my body will react," he continued, his voice a higher pitch like he was annoyed with the conversation. Arthur wasn't about to let him shut down.

"But it's your magic that's keeping you alive, isn't it? Not your blood! Why should that matter?"

"Where do you think my magic comes from?" Merlin snipped. "You think it's just something invisible that I grab out of thin air? It's a part of me, biologically, like an organ. It's in my DNA. That's how I was able to use it in Fisher." His shoulders dropped in a breath, and his annoyance subsided back into gloom. "Magic is in my blood," he whispered.

He wasn't talking about his bloodline.

"You'll lose your magic," Arthur inferred.

Merlin nodded.

But Arthur wouldn't accept it. "You don't know that for certain."

"Yes, I do," Merlin said before Arthur got the last of his words out. "When you asked me if I ever wanted to die, and I said I didn't know—," he placed the flower down the table, situating it perfectly in line against the edge, to look anywhere but Arthur, "I wasn't being honest with you."

It shouldn't have shocked Arthur that Merlin had lied, but it did. He hadn't expected such a confession, not from the same idiot who used to crack unfunny joked about sleeping on the wrong side of the table, or who always made the word  _sire_  sound like a teasing insult. Merlin had always been too full of life to die, and far too stubborn to let death get in his way. Arthur remembered the times when Merlin was an inch away from death and still begged to remain at his side.

"It was just before I met Woo," said Merlin off Arthur's silent blinking and gaping. "I thought I'd never get the potion right, and I'd never find a way to bring you back. So I . . ." He wasn't as blasé about the situation as his tone suggested. He wrapped his fingers around his opposite wrist and thinned his lips into a white line.

"By the time I realized I'd made a mistake, it was too late. There was just so much—." He shook his head into a deep, shaky sigh and kept his eyes wide open, afraid he'd only see red if he closed them. It was all Arthur saw, too, thick and wet. "I couldn't heal myself. My magic was too weak. I had to get to a phone to ring an ambulance."

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to look away. He thought maybe if he couldn't see Merlin's face, it would be harder to picture him covered in sticky crimson that trailed the floors as he stumbled towards the phone. However, the image became less transparent, until Arthur convinced himself he was watching it unfold like it was a film.

"I had to stay in hospital for a couple of weeks after that. The only good thing that came from it was that I realized I could use my blood in the potion," said Merlin, his voice filtering into Arthur's head and causing the image to dissipate. His voice was thicker now, and he sniffed. "Anyway. The doctors gave me more blood. I had enough of my own left to rebuild the cells and overcome the new ones, but I was useless until it did. This time will be different. I won't have anything of my own left. You can't rebuild something from its ashes."

"Then we'll leave whatever you need," Arthur answered. It was obvious, wasn't it? Why couldn't Merlin see it?

"That's almost half, Arthur," Merlin said in a resigned tone, and he was smiling again. "It won't be enough for the formula."

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do."

"It could  _kill_  you," Arthur shouted through his teeth.

"It might not," Merlin reasoned. "All the patients that Eleazar's Fisher hasn't cured, everyone who got the placebo, all the bodies left in the morgue, we could save them. Isn't that what you wanted?"

Of course, it was. The patients were only in danger because of Arthur. It was his duty to save them but, "Not if it means you die!"

Anyone else would have been pleased, but Merlin wasn't. He knew Arthur didn't really mean it. He looked pained—almost as pained as Arthur felt. Hot pressure was building up behind Arthur's eyes, making them bloodshot. He didn't know whether to attribute it to emotion or exhaustion.

He let his lids fall, hoping to collect his thoughts in the swirling darkness.

"Why did you stop?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. "When you tried—You said you realized you'd made a mistake. Why?"

When he opened his eyes again, Merlin's cheeks were wet.

His explanation was simple enough. Arthur should have seen it coming. "Because what if the next day was the day you came back and I wasn't there for you?"

"And now? What if you're not here tomorrow?" Uther had told Arthur never to beg. Princes never begged; kings demanded. But Arthur wanted to drop to his knees and grab Merlin's hands in his. He wanted to beg, but he remained tall on his feet. "Don't make a martyr out of yourself, Merlin. It's dramatic."

"Martyrs are innocent. It's like you said, this is me cleaning up my mess," said Merlin. "Think like a soldier. You know this is the best tactic—risk one for the sake of the many."

"No, we don't risk anyone," Arthur said with a forceful shake of his head. "We find another way."

He expected Merlin to argue again, to try to outwit him. He didn't. He just smiled in memory. "You were a great king," he said softly. "Maybe you will be again in the future."

He stepped closer to Arthur until they were almost touching. Arthur could feel Merlin's warmth buzzing in the space between them. "Do you have another way?" Merlin asked, nearly pleading. At last, he looked frightened. "If you have, tell me, because I don't want to do this, Arthur. I don't want to give this up. But I will give it willingly, because it's what you want," he whispered as though he were afraid someone would overhear an intimate secret. "It's the only way to save everyone, and you know it. It's why we're here. Toby will have already sent out the videos. The police, the Department of Health, the press,  _everyone_  will be pounding down the door sooner rather than later. We don't have time to find another way."

Arthur heard the door open again. He registered grinding wheels and footsteps tapping against the tiles. Scott said, "We went with type A. There was just enough of it."

Neither Arthur nor Merlin looked in that direction. They stared each other down, waiting for the other to blink.

"I'll do whatever you ask of me," Merlin said. Arthur would have felt better if it had been Merlin's decision, but that was never going to happen. He was no longer a servant, but he would always bow to Arthur. It wasn't fair. Merlin always knew so much more than he did.

But Arthur had to make a call. He had to think like a king, not a man—and certainly not a man in love. He had to do what was right, damn his regrets.

"Save them," he said.

Merlin did not nod in acceptance or acknowledgement. He didn't breathe out a heavy sigh. He simply turned away and started for the packages of crimson Scott had wheeled in on a gurney.

Arthur's eyes swept to the sunflower on the counter. He prayed they wouldn't have to wheel Merlin out.


	21. Chapter 21

Arthur scanned the pile of blood bags on the workbench. Scott had already taken most of the stuff for the formula, which was slowly turning its sickly yellow color as it steeped in vials. They'd been at it for hours. Scott looked exhausted, and Arthur felt as though he could do with some sleep himself. However, neither of them compared to Merlin.

He sat quietly at the workbench in the back of the room with tubes splaying from both his arms. One was attached to the bag of crimson that flowed in, while another on his opposite arm flooded out. There was a third connected to a saline drip, but Arthur didn't think it was doing much to keep Merlin hydrated. His lips were too cracked and dry.

Scott checked on him every so often to test his vitals. Arthur went over more frequently. At first, Merlin tried to joke, but more recently he'd been staring into space whenever anyone came by, like he was watching a very long movie about every detail he would have changed in his life.

Twice, Arthur had thought Merlin stopped breathing, but then he would blink and Arthur would remember to breathe, too.

Merlin looked like death warmed up. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his complexion was drained and white as paper. Arthur thought, if he poked him, Merlin would disintegrate under the pressure. He couldn't stand how weak he looked. It made his stomach slosh with guilt.

"Alright, that's enough," Arthur told him, moving to rip the needle out of Merlin's arm, but Merlin jerked it away.

"No, it isn't," he croaked. "We need more."

"You need to rest," Arthur asserted. "No one benefits if you die."

"And other people will die if I don't do this."

He sounded weary, but hopeful that Arthur would accept his wishes and he wouldn't have to waste any more breath arguing. Arthur wondered if he was doing this to punish himself. Penance came in extreme forms for Merlin: immortality first, and now the possibility of death and the assurance of life without magic. It would be like losing a limb.

Arthur was suddenly doubtful that the lives of thousands of strangers were worth a strand of hair on Merlin's head.

"Arthur," Merlin said when he was sure Arthur wasn't about to fight back. "I'm sorry I lied to you. Again."

He smiled a little sadly, with an air of finality. He was giving up. Arthur wouldn't allow him to say goodbye.

"As long as it doesn't happen again," he answered softly, and Merlin scoffed bitterly.

"No, I can promise you that."

"I'm scared to ask, but are there any other secrets I should know about?" Arthur joked, trying to lighten the moment, trying to make Merlin's grin genuinely. If he could do that, it might knock some sense into Merlin.

Merlin seemed to consider the question, and he said, "I bloody hate that scarf you gave me last Christmas."

Arthur couldn't stop himself from chuckling. He'd already guessed as much, but he played along anyway. "Is that why you never wore it?" he said dryly. "I'm shocked."

It seemed his plan had worked. Merlin was rumbling with silent laughter, and his cheeks stretched in an, albeit drugged sort of, smile.

Arthur's expression faded as he took in Merlin's state. Before, Merlin had said he didn't want to die because there was still too much to do. Arthur wanted to do those things together.

" _Dwi'n dy garu di_ ," he whispered, because it was still true.

Merlin's eyes swept up to his, grateful and suddenly misty. He nodded. "I love you, too."

"Yeah? How much?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

"Then, stop this," Arthur pleaded, seizing his chance. He looked down at the needle still stuck in Merlin's vein. "We'll save who we can. You've given enough, Merlin."

Merlin followed his gaze, seeming contemplative at first. "Okay," he said finally.

Arthur was relieved. He turned towards Scott and motioned him over.

* * *

Fisher had been separated into small vials, and those from the prison camp that had stayed helped sort them into carts and bring them to the canteen. Scott instructed the nurses and doctors present to administer the formula, and had patients form queues. Tables and chairs were pushed against the walls, and soon the canteen looked like a makeshift medical room. A few members of staff were sent to the morgue and told to give the drug to as many fresh corpses as they could, but the living took precedent.

Arthur walked around the canteen, surveying the process. The queues were dwindling down, and the carts were nearly empty. He hoped there were enough doses left for everyone, but he doubted they would be able to spare any more for the dead. Sometimes he cursed himself for not being able to help everyone, but then his eyes would find Merlin in the crowd. As it turned out, they did have to wheel Merlin out of the lab, but Arthur was happy it was in a wheelchair rather than a gurney, no matter how much Merlin complained.

Arthur found Scott amongst a group of patients who had already received Fisher. One of them was saying she didn't feel any different than she had before, and Scott was assuring her she'd see results swiftly. Arthur called him over.

"I do hope this formula works quickly," Scott prattled as Arthur led him out of earshot from anyone else. "Do you remember how long before it took full effect on you?"

"A few days, I think," Arthur answered shortly. He didn't know how long it had actually been, but he didn't care. Now wasn't the time to dwell on his return. He needed to think about the present. Merlin had borrowed one of the doctor's mobiles to check the news. In a matter of hours, the videos Toby posted had gone viral worldwide and attracted the attention of "some very important people." Ten minutes ago, the Department of Heath issued a statement saying a full investigation would be conducted on Eleazar, and they would fully cooperate with the authorities.

But the public would be out for blood. Arrests had to be made, and soon.

It hardly surprised Arthur anymore, how quickly information was spread in this century. He was used to it by then. More than that, he expected it.

"The police will be on their way now," he told Scott, whose expression turned to gloom. He understood what was to be his fate.

"I suppose so," he agreed with a sigh. "You and Merlin will want to get out of here, I assume?"

"No," Arthur told him. He had Merlin had already discussed it. "We're staying here until we know everyone has found their way home. We'll just act like normal patients and let the pieces fall where they may. As for you—," Arthur reach into his pocket and pull out a half-full vial of the yellow potion. He pressed it into Scott's palm. "As promised. Merlin says there's enough in there for one dose. You should have a bit of time before the police come knocking down your door. Go home. Save your wife."

Scott stammered down at the vial like he couldn't quite believe he was finally holding it. "My god," he said a few times before following it up with, "How do you know I won't keep it as evidence for the investigation? It has Merlin's DNA in it. I can make a deal with the police for it. I can connect him to what's happened here."

"You could," Arthur agreed. It had been Merlin's worry, and Arthur had his reservations, too. But Scott wasn't all bad. He had some good in him; Arthur had seen it, just as he had seen some tenderness in Woo. People of this century seemed obsessed with debating the goodness of humanity, but it was an arbitrary topic to dwell upon. One can't and shouldn't separate people into such categories. Arthur, like Uther, used to believe he could split people into groups, black and white, good and evil; and then one day Merlin made a dragon leap from the flames of a campfire.

"But I have to believe you'll do the right thing," Arthur went on. "Curing your wife is the reason you did this. Your life is over, but hers doesn't have to be."

He could tell Scott was thinking about it, but he didn't take much convincing.

"I don't know what to say," Scott said. He wrapped his fingers around the vial and looked at Arthur with his kind eyes. Arthur did not return the fondness.

"Don't say anything," he answered harshly. "Just get out of my sight."

Scott's face fell into something wounded, but he didn't say anything else. He shoved the dose of Fisher into his pocket and hurried for the exit.

"What did he say?" Merlin said from behind Arthur, making him spin around. Still in the wheelchair, Merlin was rolling himself over, and it looked like he was having a hard time of it. Arthur stuck his foot out to jam the wheel. It made Merlin jerk forward slightly, and it earned Arthur a glare.

"This fucking thing," Merlin cursed. "I don't need it!"

"Quiet, or I'll put you in a nursing home," Arthur threatened, and Merlin mocked laughter.

"What did he say?" he asked again, ignoring Arthur's sideways grin. "Did he take it?"

"He did." Arthur walked to the back of the chair and started wheeling Merlin around. From the looks of it, it seemed all the patients were taken care of. Half a crate was left, and some of the former prisoners were taking it out of the canteen, no doubt headed for the morgue.

"Will he save himself or his wife?" Merlin asked bitterly.

"I suppose we'll find out soon."

Merlin grumbled, "You have too much faith in people."

Arthur scoffed lightly. "I think you'll find people can surprise you.  _You_  surprised me, after all."

"Which time? When I told you about my magic or when you found out I killed innocent people to bring you back?" Merlin shot back. "Neither of them were very good surprises."

Arthur smiled softly to himself, even though Merlin couldn't see it. "Maybe I was speaking in general terms. You've surprised me every day from the day we met."

Merlin chuckled. "Weren't ready for me, were you?"

"No."

There was more weight in Arthur's tone than he'd intended, more memory. Merlin grabbed one of the wheels to make it stop moving, and Arthur immediately halted. Merlin looked at him from over his shoulder, trying to read Arthur's expression. Arthur didn't know if he was giving anything away, but Merlin had soft eyes and didn't say another word on the matter.

"I want to talk to Eliza before the police show up," Merlin said, breaking the pause. "I owe her an explanation."

"I think she owes you one, too," Arthur agreed. He tried wheeling Merlin for the door, but Merlin's grip tightened on the wheel.

"I'm walking," he said with determination.

"Merlin—," Arthur tried to argue, but Merlin was already standing up. His knees wobbled slightly, but he stood tall.

"I'm too young for a wheelchair. I'll use one when we're old and gray," he joked with a pushed smile in Arthur's direction.

Arthur didn't smile back, not at the reminder that growing old and dying was suddenly a reality for Merlin. He couldn't imagine the world without Merlin in it. Still, that was, with any luck, decades away, which was better than Merlin being dead already. He tried not to feel too guilty.

"Come on," Merlin said, realizing his joke hadn't gone over so well. "Where'd you put her?"

* * *

Arthur led Merlin to the main building, to the glass cells that they'd been kept in for months. He thought it was best to stay on the observation side of the room, but Merlin insisted they go into the cell to face Woo.

She was on Arthur's side, pacing along the broken shards of glass that Merlin had left in the center of the room upon their escape. She turned to the door when it opened, her fingers clutching her waist tighter than before when she saw her visitors.

"You look terrible," she told Merlin callously after he'd paced a little further into the room, still keeping some distance between them. Arthur stayed close to the door and ensured to shut it behind him.

He took in Woo's state. She looked relatively well for a prisoner, but the loose strand of hair that fell from her tight bun and the wrinkles in her usually immaculate skirt made her seem tired and defeated. She had worry lines creasing her brow and her bright red lipstick had faded to dull.

"I had to do a lot of work to undo your damage," Merlin told her in ways of an excuse, earning him a very severe look. He amended, " _Our_  damage."

"And what happens now?" Woo asked in a mocking tone. "Now that we're exposed?" She scoffed, amused. "They're going to shut us down? Arrest me? They'll come after you, too."

"No, they won't," Arthur responded before Merlin could. "We were never here. Toby ensured any record of us was erased, even that." He nodded vaguely towards the CCTV camera perched in the corner of the room, its recording light dead and its cold eye unseeing. Woo followed the gesture towards the camera and scowled at it.

"Then, I'll tell them!" she insisted. "I'll tell them who you are—both of you."

"No one will believe you," said Merlin, almost sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Eliza. It's done."

Arthur almost felt sorry, too. Her eyes were welling up, but he couldn't tell whether or not those were angry tears. Woo shook her head with force, unaccepting of her fate. "They will _not_  lock me up for trying to save people," she maintained, and all pity Arthur had for her faded.

"Save them?" He sneered at her. "Tell that to the bodies of those still left in the morgue. You knew what you were doing all this time; the least you can do is admit to it."

"No," she answered harshly, her eyes on Merlin, "apparently I did  _not_  know what we were doing here." She stepped closer to Merlin. He didn't move, but Arthur tensed at the ready. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. However, she didn't make any move to lay hands on Merlin. "Enjoy your life together," she whispered to him, "knowing you've ruined mine and countless others. You got what you wanted. I wish I could take it away from you."

She stepped back and locked eyes with Arthur. She didn't stop looking at him, even when Merlin hung his head and started back towards Arthur. There was something calculating in her eyes, like she wasn't actually seeing Arthur at all.

The gaze unnerved him, made his skin crawl. He concentrated on the comforting weight of his sword in his fist. He tried to hold his own, but his eyes flickered away and landed on the mattress. There was something he needed before they left.

"Are you coming?" Merlin asked when he walked past Arthur.

"Hang on," he responded. He went for the mattress and knelt down next to it, feeling beneath it until his fingers connected with a stack of papers. He pulled out the postcards Merlin had collected over the years and straightened up.

Merlin had been watching him with curiosity until he saw what Arthur was holding. His expression turned soft as Arthur crossed the room again. He stopped briefly in front of Woo, holding her stare.

"Watch out for him," Woo warned coldly, pointing her chin at Merlin over Arthur's shoulder. "He'll rip you to shreds."

Arthur turned away. He had nothing to say to her. Across the room, Merlin turned to open the door.

"But not if I tear you apart first," Woo added quickly, a fire in her tone.

Arthur's heart froze. He registered Merlin whipping around quickly, holding up his palm, just before Arthur spun around, too. Woo had slipped a large, pointed shard of glass out of her sleeve and was rushing towards Arthur.

Merlin shouted Arthur's name. Woo brought the shard downward.

Reflexively, Arthur thrust his sword forward. Woo gasped as the tip of the blade ripped through her gut, and the shard fell out of her bloodied palm.

There was a moment, always the same, just before Arthur withdrew his sword. It was a look in the eyes, who's light had not yet faded. It was disbelief. It was knowing. And then, usually, it was acceptance. Arthur knew the look well. Woo's eyes never registered acceptance.

She fell the floor, hacking and sputtering. Merlin somehow appeared kneeling at her side, holding his hands out uselessly.

"Eliza?" he was calling as her breaths became shallower. The helplessness in his voice rattled through Arthur like a chill.

Woo glanced up at Merlin with bloodshot eyes. "Do you regret what we've done?" she wheezed.

Merlin was motionless for a moment. He nodded quickly, sincerely, guiltily.

Her red lips, make-up mixed with blood, curved into a smirk. "Good," she whispered. "Then I hope you live forever."

Her eyes went still.

Neither Arthur nor Merlin moved for a few beats. Arthur tried to imagine the look on Merlin's face. He'd seen Merlin cry over deaths before—Lancelot's, Balinor's, and even Arthur's own. He wondered if Merlin would cry now, hot and wet tears, or if his face would be expressionless as it had been of late. Arthur didn't know which he hoped for.

He placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder and gave it a squeeze of support. Merlin was shaking only slightly and, when Arthur leaned forward to inspect Merlin's profile, he noticed his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide.

Then, Merlin blinked a few times and his muscles tensed. When looked up at Arthur, his eyes weren't blank—not quite. It was a start.

* * *

Not long after, the authorities swarmed the base. They searched Eleazar in its entirety and rounded up staff and patients alike for questioning. Arthur was asked to give an account, too, but he kept it as vague and innocent as possible. He needed to appear to be a normal patient. He needed to go home.

Some of the doctors were taken into custody while others were asked to stay behind for more questioning. Finally, people were loaded into cars and vans and taken away from Eleazar.

The sun had set over the lawn outside the community center long ago, but it was hardly dark. Bright white floodlights and headlights lit up the area, which buzzed with movement and chatter. Behind him, one voice rose above the others.

"Hullo," it said. Arthur smiled at the warmth in it, and he turned to greet Beatrice. Her own smile was triumphant.

"Hello."

"Now, I don't wantcha to worry," she said, stepping closer to him. "I kept my mouth shut about everything I knew. Didn't say a word."

"That must have been hard for you," Arthur joked, making her giggle. He looked over her shoulder at one of the vans that was being loaded with patients. "What now? I assume you're headed back to Wales."

"Yeah, for now," she said with a nod. "I'll be back in England soon, though. Gonna meet up with Toby."

Arthur quirked an amused brow. "Yeah?"

She hummed. "Well, we  _did_  bring down an evil organization together," she said in a mock-dramatic tone. "Figure that's worth a drink, at least." She slapped Arthur's bicep playfully. "We'll invite you along next time, yeah? I mean—," she suddenly looked horrified. "If you want. I'm not saying you want to keep in touch, but if you'd like to. I don't see why—"

"I'll look forward to it," he said, stopping her before she hurt herself. She seemed relieved.

"Alright, then," she agreed, an air of finality in her tone. "I'll be off. I'll see ya later, Arthur—whatever you're called."

They shared a tight embrace before she skipped off with a happy wave over her shoulder. He waved back until she disappeared into the crowd.

He scanned for Merlin, and spotted him against the community center, standing in the peripherals of a circle of light. Arthur went for him.

"Ready?" Merlin asked, standing up from his lean on the wall.

"To get out of here?" Arthur shot back like it was obvious.

"Come this way," Merlin instructed, nodding away from the crowd. "No one's over there. We should be able to get to the fence unnoticed."

They started in that direction after Arthur collected his sword from its hiding spot in the bushes along the wall. They'd left Toby's car about mile from the base. They would return it in a few days, but that night Arthur had a hot shower back in Glastonbury with his name on it.

After they slipped through the hole in the fence that Merlin had made upon their arrival that day, they walked in silence for a few minutes. The only sounds Arthur heard were the chirping of insects and distant tires on gravel roads.

He broke the quiet by teasing, "Do us all a favor next time, will you? Don't write any more stories."

Merlin looked down at his feet, but Arthur saw him smiling in the moonlight. "Oh, come on, Arthur! This one would get more recognition than the tale of how you found Excalibur," he joked, or at least Arthur chose to believe he was joking.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Merlin."


	22. Chapter 22

A week later, Arthur sat in an examination room in Merlin's hospital, kicking his feet restlessly against the table. As he waited, he watched the television on the wall opposite him. The news was on, and in the last few days there had been very little variety apart from the investigation into Eleazar.

In that time, almost three-dozen doctors, Scott among them, had been arrested. They would stand trial early in the New Year. Meanwhile, a separate inquiry had begun concerning the Minister of Health. Arthur expected they wouldn't find anything. He was kept in the dark as much as anyone else.

" _Authorities have given up the search for the lead founder of Eleazar Inc., a man known to the public as Dr. Wilt_ ," the reporter on screen said, piquing Arthur's interest. " _According to sources within the Department of Health, he has not been heard from in over two years and is presumed dead_."

Relief washed over Arthur. The graphic next to the reporter's head changed from an image of a syringe and the Star of Life to that of a golden retriever.

" _Earlier today, the citizens of Bedfordshire witnessed a real life case of_ Lassie _when a local teen fell down a well and_  . . ."

Arthur tuned the report out, and soon enough Merlin brisked through the door with a clipboard in his hands.

"Everything looks normal," he was saying as he referred to the papers. "The swelling's gone down, so you're just as big-headed as you used to be."

"Very funny," Arthur droned.

Merlin set the clipboard down and stood in front of Arthur, fitting himself between Arthur's knees. Arthur doubted he got so intimately close to his other patients. "How are you feeling?" he asked. He didn't wait for Arthur to respond before taking out a penlight and shining it annoyingly in Arthur's eyes.

" _Fine_ ," Arthur fussed, wincing and swatting the light away. "What about my heart?"

Merlin thinned his lips in thought, but he was honest when he answered, "It's still beating faster than it should be."

The news troubled Arthur. "Should I be worried? Scott said that might be harmful for the future."

Merlin let out a breath, not quite a laugh. "It's alright," he assured. "You're in good health, Arthur. We shouldn't worry too much—as long as we make sure you don't get fat," he added with a sly smirk that caused Arthur to roll his eyes.

"What about you?" Arthur asked, his tone softer now. He was more concerned about Merlin's wellbeing than his own. "Has your magic come back?"

Without changing his expression, Merlin reached behind Arthur's ear. It confused Arthur for a second, until Merlin pulled back with five pence held between his fingers.

"Ah-ha!" Merlin exclaimed with an air of sarcastic mystery.

"Ahhh," Arthur responded, mocking amazement. He then fixed Merlin with a stern look. "Seriously, though. Is it back?"

"Not yet," Merlin said, sounding dejected. "But it's there. I can feel it—little tingles now and again." He fluttered his finger near his temple, and lowered his hand again. "It's rebuilding. But it will never be what it was. It's parlor tricks for me from now on." He took in a sharp breath as he said it, acting as though he was okay. Arthur saw he still hadn't accepted it completely. "So, don't pick any fights because I won't be able to protect you like I have."

Arthur would have made a joke out of it if he hadn't seen how affected Merlin was by the loss. "It must have been a hard decision for you," he said instead.

A corner of Merlin's lips flickered upward briefly. "No," he said. "I'd rather have you."

Arthur didn't know how to respond to that. He wasn't certain he deserved that much loyalty, but he knew Merlin wouldn't hear otherwise. Instead of speaking, he wrapped his palm around the back of Merlin's neck and brought him into a soft kiss.

The door opening again interrupted them, and both Merlin and Arthur turned to find Jaclyn standing in the threshold. She looked shocked, like she hadn't expected anyone to be in the room—much less the pair of them.

"I—um," she stammered for a moment.

"Hey, Jacs," Merlin greeted brightly, like everything was normal.

She didn't respond. She quickly averted her eyes and moved to the cabinets, where she took out a few gauzes. Then, she shuffled out of the room and closed the door carefully behind her.

Arthur assumed they wouldn't be invited to any more of her parties.

He looked at Merlin, who pulled a faux-guilty face before bursting into laughter. Arthur shook his head and rumbled, too.

* * *

Another two weeks had gone by, bringing with them brief flurries of snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground. Soon, it would be a New Year, and Arthur tried to see it as a fresh start.

The shadow cast by the tower was to Arthur's back. He stayed instead in the sunlight, warm on his skin despite the frigid air around him. He looked down the Tor at the winding streets below, and at the silver-tipped lawn that rippled in the gusts. Arthur envisioned the wind whipping up choppy waves along the surface of the invisible lake. He imagined he could hear them crashing against the banks of the isle.

As he sat on the frostbitten grass on the side of the Tor, he turned his thoughts away from what the water would feel like on his skin. It must have been cold as death.

He'd run all the way from home to the tip of the Tor, right up to the tower. It had taken all morning, and his cheeks were still flushed with heat, but his toes were numb with the late December ice. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there.

There were footsteps behind him. They crunched on the grass as they approached, and they sounded familiar so Arthur didn't turn around towards the newcomer. Shortly, Merlin plopped down next to him. He was wearing a big coat and the red scarf Arthur had given him on that one Christmas.

"Hey," he said. "I've been driving around looking for you. Thought you might have passed out." He looked out to the grassland like he'd noticed its existence for the first time. "I didn't expect to find you here. It was the last place I looked."

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur watched Merlin bring his knees to his chest and embrace them.

"Today was the day, then?" Merlin asked like he already knew the answer.

"I was determined," said Arthur. And he had been. He didn't allow himself to ponder. He just ran—one foot in front of the other—until he was inside St. Michael's Tower. It looked nothing like he'd pictured from a distance. Making light of the accomplishment, he sighed, "It's just an old hill, anyway."

"Yeah, I suppose it is," Merlin agreed, resting his chin on his knees. He sounded a little sad. "I can't see it anymore." Arthur didn't think Merlin had ever really seen the lake anyway, not as a whole; he'd only searched it for signs of life.

"Then, there's no point in staying, is there? We'll find you a new lake to look at," Arthur considered. He'd been considering it for weeks now. "Maybe even an ocean."

Merlin straightened out and furrowed his brows at Arthur. "You want to  _move_?" he asked, like the idea was absurd. Arthur glanced at him, too, and realized the fear lining Merlin's face. Merlin had taken one too many days off, relaxing and watching bad telly; he'd forgotten about the world apart from Glastonbury. It was about time they both rejoined it, and found a place they belonged.

"I wouldn't even know where to go," Merlin continued, seeming to mull over the possibility of leaving—for good this time, so the roads wouldn't lead back to Avalon no matter how far he roamed.

"I thought you had an entire list of places?" Arthur reminded him, thinking back to the stack of postcards that were now burning a hole in his dresser drawer. "If you want to show them to me, we'd better get started. Your time is ticking now, remember?"

Merlin snickered, but his eyes were downcast. They flickered back to where the lake should have been. "What are you doing up here anyway?"

"I'm not sure," Arthur told him, following his gaze. "Thinking."

Merlin didn't make a joke out of it like he normally would. He swallowed hard and hung his head like he was expecting the worst. "About?"

"Do you think I'll come back again?" Arthur asked like Merlin had an answer. He hadn't consciously realized that was what turned in his mind. He'd been empty before Merlin showed up. "This time when my so-called destiny intended?" The word still sounded ridiculous to him, feeling foreign in his mouth, even after everything they'd been through.

Merlin shrugged and pulled up some grass between his fingers. "I don't know." He smirked a little bitterly. "Won't have me if you do. Which is probably for the best. Maybe everything will run smoothly."

Arthur snorted and brought up his knees to rest his arms on. "Maybe," he agreed. "But, if I am summoned back here, I'm dragging you with me kicking and screaming."

"Yeah?" Merlin asked, trying to feign apathy, but Arthur could basically see his heart swell in his eyes.

"Of course," he answered like it was obvious. "How am I expected to get through anything to come without my husband?"

Merlin laughed, unexpected to even him. "I'm not your husband."

Arthur shrugged. "Well, not yet."

Merlin raised a skeptical brow. "Are you proposing?"

"Maybe."

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Merlin scoffed.

"I'm telling you," Arthur told him directly. "So it would be a lot easier if you just went along with it."

Merlin was trying to keep down his smile, but Arthur was much better at training his face. Years of boring State dinners taught him that skill, and old habits die hard.

"Do I have any say in this?" Merlin asked.

Arthur shook his head once. "None. I'm going to make an honest man out of you if it kills me."

Merlin pulled a frown like he'd begrudgingly accepted it. "Well, then. I guess I'll just have to get used to it."

"Best to."

Merlin looked directly at Arthur, and Arthur returned his gaze. It was harder to keep a straight face now that he saw how brightly Merlin's eyes were twinkling, like they had in Camelot. Arthur beamed at him, and Merlin turned the same shade of red as his scarf.

"I'm freezing," Arthur said, even though he didn't really feel it. He was too warm for it, and his skin buzzed with exhilaration. He just wanted to go back to bed, or to go somewhere where the sun was still hot.

"That's because you aren't wearing anything," Merlin chided. He unwrapped his scarf from around his neck and threw it over Arthur's head. It smelt of the earth after a summer rainstorm; it smelt like Merlin always had. A thousand memories followed that scent.

Merlin stood up and offered his hand to Arthur. Arthur grabbed it and jerked himself up into a hard kiss that took Merlin off guard. When Arthur's pulled away, Merlin's eyes were closed and he swayed slightly. Arthur watched his eyes flutter open as though waking up.

A grin cracked Merlin's cheeks from ear to ear.

"I expect a ring, by the way," he said, taking Arthur's hand in his.

"Absolutely not."

As Merlin played with his fingers, Arthur noticed his eyes flash a dim gold. He felt the weight on his index finger go away, and the next thing he knew, Merlin was holding up his mother's band in his fingers. It was quite the parlor trick.

"Too late!"

Merlin sprinted in the direction from which he'd come, and his laughter trailed behind him.

" _Mer_ lin!"

Arthur forgot about the wind on the waves, or lack there of. He forgot about the tower's shadow casted over him. He ran after Merlin.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soundtrack:
> 
> Bad Blood – Bastille  
> Ink – Coldplay  
> Sweetheart, What Have You Done To Us – Keaton Henson  
> It's Beginning To Get To Me – Snow Patrol  
> Medicine – Daughter  
> Silhouettes – Of Monsters and Men  
> Liar – Mumford & Sons  
> Milk Teeth – Keaton Henson  
> Secrets – OneRepublic  
> The Scientist – Coldplay  
> History Book – Dry the River


End file.
